


Love and Sacrifice

by Novalinx



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 11:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3726466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novalinx/pseuds/Novalinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hoping to find a way to prolong his time with Bard, Thranduil seeks aid from some unlikely sources. A solution is found, but in order for it to work, the lovers will each have to sacrifice something they hold dear.</p>
<p>Now with art!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Art by the super talented [Merinia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Merinia/pseuds/Merinia). Check out the direct link here: [Art Link](http://merinia.tumblr.com/post/116305406535/hoping-to-find-a-way-to-prolong-his-time-with?soc_src=mail&soc_trk=ma). Once I figure it out, her art will be included in the story itself!  
> Betaed by the amazing [Sharkseye](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharkseye/pseuds/Sharkseye). Seriously, I call dibs on her for any future projects. Any remaining mistakes are mine.  
> Please let me know if more tags should be added!

**2933**

Their first meeting occurred purely by accident. There had been a minor complaint about something in the river keeping the barrels from traveling properly. While it hadn't been necessary, Thranduil had gone out with the grounds crew to try and find the problem. Even the King needed to get out into the forest now and again.

A tree had fallen across the river, its branching providing a great catch for the empty barrels. It took little time for the elves to remove it. He sent the others back to see how such a large impediment could have been missed, by both the patrols and the grounds workers themselves. Thranduil found himself wondering about the rest of the river's condition. As the week's batch of barrels came through the gates, he decided to follow them.

The royal guards were not pleased to be sent away, but Thranduil wanted to be alone. He also suspected at least half of them would follow him anyway. They were annoying like that.

He easily followed the barrels along their path down the river. Walking along the river bank, Thranduil observed as the dense trees and moss covered rocks slowly gave way to low bushes and sun warmed stones. The river mouth was just as lovely as the rest of the forest. A rocky beach spread out in front of him, a small pier was discretely positioned past a low hill. The king could just make out a corner from his place on the shore.

It was a lovely day, so the decision to stay and watch the barrel collection was an easy one for the elven king. Settling on a nearby rock, he wondered how long it would take for the Lake-town bargeman to come and collect the barrels.

The answer was: not long. Thranduil could hear the faint _splish_ of the barge moving through the water, then the faint, wooden _thunk_ as the barge was moored onto the pier.

He kept his seat and watched as a man came over the slight hill. He was short compared to elves, but likely average height for the men of Esgaroth. Dark, wavy hair was cut at shoulder length and pulled back from his face, no braids in sight. His face was unshaven, though the light beard he sported was attractive enough. Few elves could grow a beard, so Thranduil was not sure how to judge one on a human.

It was much shorter than a dwarf's beard, for which he was grateful.

The man worked quickly. Without the grace of the Eldar, but with the surety of good health. 

It wasn't until all the barrels were on the shore that the man looked in Thranduil's direction. He visibly started and looked unsure as to what his response should be. A moment's hesitation, then he politely waved his hand and smiled. Without waiting for a response, he began to move the barrels to his barge.

Based on his actions Thranduil concluded that the man had seen elves watching him before, and that they did not interact with him. Perhaps it was time for that to change. With that decided he easily slid down from his seat and wandered towards the barrels, and the man.

He stood, waiting for the man to return. Once he did, the elf politely greeted, “Mae govannen.”

The man blinked slowly, smiled wryly. “I'm sorry, my lord. I do not understand Elvish.”

Thranduil tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment, “My apologies, Man of the Lake. Well met.”

“Well met, my lord.” The man returned.

“How goes your labor?”

“It's well, Master Elf. I assume whatever was blocking the river has been fixed?”

“It has,” the king confirmed. “Were you the one who alerted us to it?”

“I did.”

“Will you tell me how? I take from your manner that you rarely talk with the elves.”

“Rarely, if at all, m'lord. We have a... drop box, if you will, to communicate special needs.”

Thranduil was impressed at the man's determination to keep Greenwood's secrets from a random elf. The bargeman kept his gaze on Thranduil's, being sure to not look towards wherever the drop box was.

“Tell me, how long have you done this?”

“Going on three years, m'lord. I took over for Frazl when he fell and broke his hip. First while he healed, then permanently when his balance was shot.”

Thranduil hummed and began to walk a slow circle around the man. He could see him fight the urge to follow the elf's progress. A smirk fell from his face as he noticed how thin and strained the man looked. Surely the job paid better than that. “Do you have a family?”

“Aye, two daughters and a son.”

“No wife?” Thranduil queried softly as he stilled his movements.

“She passed. Not long after our youngest was born.”

“My condolences.” The king murmured, feeling a stab of grief for the loss of his own wife. “Who watches the children while you are here?”

The man blinked. “Bain and Tilda, my youngest, accompanied me until this past winter. Now all three stay with their mother's family. I fetch them when I return to Lake-town.”

They stood together in silence for several moments. It was the bargeman who eventually broke it.

“M'lord? Are you planning to take up the job of barrel collecting?”

“What?” Thranduil asked, thrown by the question.

The man smiled cheekily. “You've asked many questions that lead me to believe you are looking for a new occupation and are worried about how it will impact your family.”

The king laughed, surprised. “No, I'm quite content with my occupation. I merely find myself curious about the workings around the Greenwood's realm.”

“The Greenwood,” the man murmured, looking towards the vast forest. “Few in my home call it that anymore.”

“Yes,” Thranduil sneered, voice dripping with contempt. “I've heard the new name. Mirkwood.” 

“You cannot lie that it seems accurate at times, m'lord.”

“The darkening of the wood does not diminish its greatness.”

“As you will.” he bowed his agreement. When he straightened he looked up at the sun and turned to the king with regret on his face. “As enjoyable as this has been, I must be off. The barrels won't load themselves and I still need to prepare supper for my family.”

“Of course.” Thranduil backed away from the barrels to allow the bargeman to continue loading his goods. It did not take him long, showing that practice had taught the man the best ways to go about his duty. Once finished, he turned back to where the elf stood.

“It was an honor to speak with you. If you are free again, please do join me.”

“I just may, Master Bargeman. Until then, be safe.” 

“You as well.”

The two parted their first meeting on good terms, though it was not the end of their interactions.

* * *

It took less than a month for Thranduil to completely rearrange his schedule to include free afternoons. He used this time to visit the bargeman during the barrel pick up. Through an unspoken agreement, neither of them were willing to reveal their names, Thranduil for the obvious reason of not losing his friend because of his rank. For Bard it was because he knew he wasn't in the best graces with the Master. He feared that rumors of his less than stellar behavior may drive off someone he hoped to be a friend. 

One fine summer day found them sitting on the edge of the dock, their shoeless feet dangling in the water. They had been discussing the best ways to preserve squashes and what ways were the most satisfying to cook them in. Silence had slowly fallen, leaving the two sitting side by side.

“We're being ridiculous, you know.” the bargeman said while Thranduil drowsily blinked.

“Are we?” the king asked.

“Yes.”

“What are we being ridiculous about?”

“Why haven't you told me your name?”

The question woke Thranduil up completely and he turned slightly alarmed towards his companion. “Why do you ask?”

He got a flat look in response. “I know my own reasons for keeping my name quiet. I imagine you have similar reasons. But we have been talking for months now, and it's becoming ridiculous that my children only know you as 'da's elf friend.'”

The king smiled. “You told your children about me?”

“Aye. I'd tell them more, but I don't know your name.”

They sat, staring at each other for several moments.

“I'm Bard,” he introduced himself, relenting their stalemate.

“Bard.” the king repeated. “I am Thranduil,” he inclined his head.

Bard's brow furrowed in thought. He murmured quietly to himself. “Thranduil? Why do I know that name?” he froze, his whole head turning towards the elf. “The _king_?!”

“Yes,” Thranduil confirmed, hoping their friendship wouldn't change.

“Wow. I've been talking with the king. No one back home will ever believe this. Your subjects don't know what you're up to, do they?”

“They are aware that I come down the river, the purposes they are not privy to. Yet.”

“Yet?”

“Now that you know, I will have to take more precautions. It was easier when you were ignorant.” The king mourned the loss of the easy interaction between the two of them. With Bard's knowledge came the reality that, as careful as he has proven to be, he might accidentally reveal the name of his elven friend. There were many in Lake-town who did not look favorably upon the elves of Greenwood. “This will be the last day,” he murmured aloud, thinking on how things would change. 

“Today will be the last day we have forever, or the last day without guards?” Bard asked, worried about how onlookers could change the behavior of his friend. 

His friend was a king, he shook his head ruefully, fairly certain his life could not get any stranger.

“The last without guards. I hope we shall be friends for years to come.”

“We well.” Agreed the man. “But if today is my last day with you all to myself...” he trailed off, grinning.

“What are you going-” Thranduil started, but stopped when Bard pushed him into the river.

The king resurfaced, sputtering and glaring at the man laughing on the dock. It was easy for the elf to pull himself back up onto the dock, grab hold of Bard's ankle and yank him in as well.

The two spent the rest of their afternoon together splashing each other and laughing hysterically.

Very little changed between them for some time.

* * *

Their relationship continued to progress. At the beginning, when they were still getting to know one and other, they talked of their lost spouses and how hard it often was to continue on. It was the first time either had felt comfortable enough to do so. It helped them both truly finish grieving their lost spouses and savor life again. Both truly enjoyed the company of the other, even when Bard did his best to dunk Thranduil in the river again, this time with his guards watching.

The guards had all been amazed at how different their taciturn king was with the human. It was a side of him most of them had only ever seen with his son.

Their first kiss happened as summer was ending. Bard had been explaining how his family made a tradition of spending several days canning whatever fruits and vegetable they could afford, it meant a lot of hard work and quality time together. 

Thranduil had been grinning about the description of the previous year, when Bain had sat on a basket of berries that had been left on a chair. The boy had been mortified, but it was the best laugh any of them had had in a long while.

Around them, the guards watched in amazement at their interactions, only pulling away when they heard the sound of someone approaching. As one, their hands reached towards their weapons, prepared to defend their king. 

A messenger exited the woods, barely out of breath. “My king,” he announced, coming to a stop and going to one knee.

“What is it, Dibem?”

“Your son has returned.”

Thranduil stood from the barrel he had been resting on, “is he injured?”

“I was not told. He asks for you.”

A nod was his reply. “Go, tell him I shall be back shortly.” the king turned to Bard. “I must cut our time short.”

Bard nodded, “Your son comes first.”

“Yes. You two should meet soon. I think he will like you.” Then, absentmindedly, Thranduil kissed Bard softly on the mouth. A gesture made all the more intimate by the unconscious action behind it. Before either could comment, he was gone.

It was not until after seeing Legolas and retiring for the night that Thranduil realized he had kissed his friend. He found himself dreading their relationship would change.

* * *

Thranduil had to miss the next week, a rise in spider nests necessitated that he join a couple patrols to get a better idea of their sizes. Once he was back, he continued to fret about the following week, when he would finally see Bard again after kissing him.

He arrived at the dock before the barrels did and found Bard waiting for him.

Bard looked at him with a stern expression. “I'm surprised you came back.”

“I...”

“You missed last week, I had brought my children to meet you.”

Thranduil blinked. “What?”

Bard stepped closer to the elven king and smiled. “I quite liked the kiss. I think I would like to continue, if you're amiable. See where the kissing leads us. However, my children must approve. They come first in all things.”

“Of course they do, I'm sorry I missed them.” he truly was too, Bard's stories of his children were a large part of their conversations.

“No need.” Bard waved away his apology. “They're on the barge now.”

“You brought them? It's much too cold this time of year for young children to travel.”

“You, my dear king, worry too much.” Bard hesitated a moment, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the king's cheek. “It's adorable. Now, come, meet the children. Next time bring Legolas.” He turned and headed back towards the barge, leaving Thranduil to touch his cheek stupidly. A smile spread across his face and he eagerly went to meet his soon to be lover's family.

Their afternoon went well. Little Sigrid, at almost 8, found the king to be a little intimidating and she was quite shy in his presence. Bain just wanted to hear stories about the dagger he carried. Tiny Tilda, all of two, threatened him, before being distracted by a game with her sister.

He spent the entire trip home and much of the night smiling over her promise.

“If you hurts my da, I'll kick you.”

* * *

**2934**

A quiet evening in the king's personal chambers was broken by the sound of his son's question.

“What about Nana?” Legolas asked quietly.

Thranduil turned towards his son, head tilted in confusion. “Legolas?” he prompted, looking for more information.

“If you start a relationship with Bard, what does that mean about Nana?”

“Ah, my little leaf. Come here,” Thranduil gathered Legolas in his arms, and ignored his son's whine at his childhood nickname. The king directed them both to a low sofa in his chambers. “I fear my grief for your mother has done more damage to you than I anticipated.”

He paused to gather his thoughts, smoothing out a slight crease in his robe as he did so. “Your Nana and I discussed much before we married, including what would happen if one of us was to pass.”

Legolas pulled away from his father, aghast. “You talked about that?!”

“We had too, just like one day you and I will discuss it.” Thranduil cupped his son's chin, “She made the same face at the time.”

Legolas ducked his head down, sniffling loudly. “What did you discuss?”

“Among a great many things before she would agree to marry me, we worked out what would happen if I were to die.”

Legolas looked up, shocked. “You?”

“Yes, me. If it happened before we had children, your mother would have taken the crown as queen, married someone suitable and began a new line for the Greenwood. If I died after we had children, she would rule as regent until my heir was old enough to take the throne.” Thranduil paused and wondered if it was appropriate to joke about how if things had been different, his son would be king now. A quick look at his son convinced him that now was not the time.

“And if it was Nana?” the question was barely whispered.

The king took a deep breath, looking away towards a window. “If she passed before we had children, I would remarry. If she passed after,” he could feel his throat closing with the remembered grief and shut his eyes tightly to regain his composure. “If it happened after, I would raise you to the best of my ability.” he turned back to his son and brushed a wayward strand of hair back from his face. “I think I did a pretty good job.”

“But what about...” Legolas waved his hands in the general direction of Lake-town.

“Finding love again?” Thranduil asked.

His son nodded mutely.

“That,” he laughed uneasily. “Your mother was more practical about than I. I was prepared to swear that she would be the only one I would ever love and without her I would happily sail to the West on my own, with only her memories as company.”

“How did she convince you otherwise?”

“A lot of little arguments and pointed remarks. I suppose her success came when she reminded me how long we live. That it is a long time without love or companionship. At first, I was insulted. That my love for her would not be enough and she was already looking for a replacement. We argued about it, ended up not speaking for several weeks.” he shook his head at his stupidity. “I learned well what she meant. Those few weeks without her were draining.”

“She won?” Legolas smiled at the thought of someone beating his father in an argument.

“She most certainly did. We agreed that we could not put a time limit on our mourning, indeed with an heir necessary we would neither of us have the time we wanted. After she died” he hesitated, “I knew I wanted to wait until you were an adult, capable of taking care of yourself, before I would even look for a new relationship.”

“I suppose an age is long enough,” Legolas offered with a slight smile.

“Yes. I would have waited forever.” The king shrugged. “Bard just snuck up on me.” 

“What will you do when he dies? He's mortal, Ada.” worry was clearly written across his son's features.

“I... I will mourn him, as I did your mother. Then I will honor him by watching over his family until it is time for us to sail.”

“You won't fade?”

Thranduil smiled fondly, “Turns out Bard is much like your Nana. He outright refused to even contemplate a relationship with me unless I guaranteed that I would find something to live for after his passing.”

“Good. I won't lose you.”

“No, you won't.” promised his father, “Do I have your blessing?”

Legolas sat up, pulling away from his father's embrace. “I can't. I won't withhold my blessing.” he began. “But I'm too afraid for you to bestow it. You say you have plans for when his time comes, but what happens if they aren't enough” a quick head shake. “No, I won't publicly denounce your relationship, but I cannot bless it, not even here.” Legolas gestured to the king's private rooms.

Thranduil sadly closed his eyes. “I understand how you feel. I will respect your decision.”

“I'm sorry, Ada. I want you to be happy, truly I do. But he's a man, their lives are so fleeting. Why can't you find companionship among the Eldar?” Legolas tugged at his braids in distress.

“I tried, ion. Too many look at me and see a king, not a person. Bard reminds me that I am more than a king. More than a widower.”

“Then we are at an impasse.”

“So it appears,” The king sighed, suddenly looking all of his long years. The silence stretched between them, Thranduil supposed it should have been uncomfortable. It wasn't, they had disagreed often over the years, working through it was just what they did. “I would ask for two favors, leafling.”

“What are they?” Legolas asked with trepidation.

“Be kind to Bard, for he is my friend before all else.”

“Done,” Legolas agreed, “And the other?”

“Be kind to his children, they have as little say in all of this as you do.”

“Of course.” Legolas looked slightly hurt by the implication he would treat others unkindly. “Is Bard as open with his children?”

“Worse, actually. He introduced us before he would even contemplate joining me for a meal.”

“He talks to them about your relationship?”

“It's only been a few years since their mother passed.” Thranduil explained as he turned Legolas to fix a braid. “Tilda doesn't remember her, but Sigrid and Bain do. He didn't want them to think he was replacing her. Never doubt that you children are our priority.”

Legolas smiled, checking along the finished braid as he turned for Thranduil to fix the other. “Your priority, yes, but you will make decisions we don't agree with.”

“It is slightly different. For all that you occasionally whine like an elfling, you are an adult and have been for several hundred years. Bard's youngest is barely six years old.”

“So young.” Legolas murmured. “It's a shame that an elf can choose to live a mortal life, but a Man can't choose to live an Elven life. You will lose Bard and there is nothing we can do about it.”

Thranduil froze. Thoughts whirled through his mind. Could it be possible? Lúthien and Beren died, but what had happened to Tuor and Idril?

“Ada?” 

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?”

“I'm fine, Legolas. You just made me half remember something. I'm sure it'll resolve itself eventually.”

“If you're sure.”

“I am,” the king closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, Legolas could see that he was back in his role as ruler. “Now go. You have patrol soon, I won't have you shirking your duties.”

“Yes, my king. I'll see you in a few days.”

“Farewell, Legolas. Be safe.”

Legolas left Thranduil alone in his chambers. A single thought reverberated within his mind. What if there was a way to keep Bard? He would need to find all the histories he had about the Lúthien and Beren, as well as Idril and Tuor. Anything to find out more about their fates, and hopefully change his own.

* * *

**2935**

On the rare occasion Bard was able to sneak away from his responsibilities as father and bargeman. He would go to the edge of Mirkwood and practice with his long bow. Since meeting Thranduil and becoming increasingly closer to the elf, he had changed from his usual targets of living trees to fallen logs. It often took him longer to set up reasonable targets, but he liked doing these small gestures to show his appreciation of his new lover.

Thranduil loved his forest, he had once told Bard that he felt the pain of the spreading spiders, and the bite of axes in the far south. It had made Bard wonder if he could feel the hit of an arrow as well. The thought alone was enough for the bargeman to change his routine.

On one such day of relaxation, Bard worked his way though his quiver twice before the feeling of being watched came to his attention. He was relatively sure it was not Thranduil. Thranduil's gaze had a certain weight to it, the look he felt now was more judgmental.

He turned slowly towards the forest. It was difficult to see, the trees and underbrush made the edges very dark and almost impenetrable to his human eyes. 

After seeing nothing, he turned back to his target, intent on retrieving his arrows to have another round. Arrows collected, he headed back to his original position, only to freeze when he saw someone standing in his place.

At first he thought it was Thranduil, the coloring was almost right, though this elf was slightly shorter and a little stockier. He knew it couldn't be his lover though. Thranduil had made it clear that preparations for an upcoming feast demanded all of his attention. Their time would be limited to a few scarce minutes while he collected the barrels in a few days. That meant it could only be one other.

He continued towards the elf, and greeted with certainty. “Prince Legolas.”

“Master Bard,” the elven prince inclined his head.

“Is there something I can do for you?”

“I wanted to meet the man my father is enthralled with.” The prince answered.

“Ah.” Bard looked down at himself, then back to the elf and grinned sheepishly. “Am I what you expected?”

“I do not know what I expected.” Legolas sighed. “I would talk with you, if you'll permit it.”

“Of course. Do you mind if I continue to practice?”

Legolas shook his head and stepped to the side. “Did my father tell you about my reaction?”

“Aye, he did.” Bard answered, notching an arrow. “He said you did not take it well.”

The both watched as the arrow flew through the air and imbedded itself in a knot of a fallen tree; right where Bard had aimed. 

“Good shot,” Legolas praised. 

Bard continued to shoot his bow while Legolas watched in silence.

“It. I.” The prince paused to sort his thoughts. “I miss my mother.” He finally admitted. “I want him to be happy and to have love, but you will die.”

“Aye,” Bard agreed. “I will die and leave behind my family. My children, their families, Thranduil, and you.”

“Me? We've only just met and you consider me family?”

“You're Thranduil's family.” Bard lowered his bow to his side and turned to face the elf. “You are more important to him than anything else. What kind of person would I be to ignore what he cares about?”

A nod was all the answer he got for several minutes. While he watched, Legolas notched and fired several of his own arrows. They briefly parted from the topic of his relationship with the king and just talked of archery techniques. There may have been a small competition to see who was better, but both would deny it.

Two hours later, Bard was collecting his arrows yet again and mentioned that he needed to get back home.

Legolas nodded. “I'm glad we've had this time to talk, though I'm still unsure of my feelings about your relationship with ada. I know you make him happier than he has been in a long time. I hope it will be enough to sustain him after you're gone.”

Bard clapped the elf's shoulder. “I hope it is as well. You and I must work together to make sure he does not succumb to his own grief when I pass. I know my children will help. Tilda is already calling him ada.”

Legolas laughed. “He must love that. He did tell me once that he wanted more children.” He eyed Bard for several long seconds. “I do not know if I will ever be comfortable calling you 'ada.'”

“I do not expect it. Not just because it is an elvish word, my own children call me 'da.'” he explained. “But because I am not replacing your mother. No one can replace your mother. I think I would have a fit if anyone even tried to replace my children's mother.” 

He settled his quiver onto his back and made his way towards the pier his barge was docked at. Legolas followed quietly.

At the pier, Bard turned back to the elf. “I hope that we can be friends. It would make both your father and I happy.”

“I think we can be friends.” The prince answered thoughtfully. “Yes, I would like to be friends with you and your children.”

“That's easy enough.” Bard smiled. “Come and visit. Just... ask your father first. We may be occupied.”

He set the barge off down the river, laughing at the disgusted look on the young prince's face.

* * *

**2936**

The letter innocently sat upon the corner of Elrond's desk. He had done his best to ignore it, citing the need to complete other duties before he could dedicate the time the letter from Mirkwood would certainly need.

Yet it seemed his time for dallying had run out. Dinner was over, the others were unwilling to spend another cold night in the Halls of Fire. Erestor and Glorfindel, even his own sons, were in his office reminding him of his task. 

“It's as if none of you trust me.” Elrond glared balefully at the four elves seated around his study. 

“We trust you,” Erestor immediately protested.

“Yes, we trust you to find another dozen inconsequential chores to complete before reading that letter.” Glorfindel nodded towards it. “It's been here for three days, you will have to read it at some point or he'll just send another.”

“Honestly Ada,” Elrohir chimed in, “It's just a letter. How bad could it be?”

Elrond sighed as he carefully lifted the innocent looking correspondence. “It could be anything from wanting to raise tariffs on trade to a rant about something your grandmother did three hundred years before you were born.”

Erestor made a noise of irritation and thrust a letter opener towards his lord. “Just open it and stop brooding, the anticipation is killing us.”

With a final glare at what Elrond mentally termed his tormentors, he grasped the dull blade and ripped open the letter. His audience was quiet as he read the letter once. Then again.

Blinking thoughtfully, he lowered the letter. “Well, that was unexpected.”

The other wait for him to elaborate, instead he reread the letter.

“Well?!” Elladan asked impatiently.

“Hmm?” Elrond looked up, a slight smile pulling at his lips. “Oh, King Thranduil has invited me and a small number of others to his woods. He says he has an important matter that needs my input. One that his library and scholars has been unable to solve.”

“The Mirkwood king needs help?” Erestor asked, dazed.

“Apparently.” Elrond tapped the letter while staring out a window.

“He _asked_ for help?” Erestor repeated.

“That he did,” Elrond replied placidly.

“What does he want?” Glorfindel asked, rejoining the conversation.

Another glance through the letter, in case Elrond had missed something. “He doesn't say much. A vague reference to Beren and Lúthien. I don't entirely understand why he's interested in those two. His contempt for anyone not of Mirkwood is well known.”

Elrohir waved aside the criticism of the king's manners. “But what does he say _specifically_ about Beren and Lúthien, Ada?”

“Have you always been this nosy?” Elrond asked, a warning glare sent towards his eldest.

“Yes.” Elladan answered, quickly dodging a halfhearted smack from his twin.

“Boys,” their father chastised, as if they were young children again. They fell silent, but turned curious eyes towards their father. Elrond rolled his eyes, but dutifully scanned the letter again to find the proper wording. “He says: 'your line has been intriguing for all scholars. The fate of Beren and Lúthien raises more questions than answers. I would discuss them with you, if you are willing.'”

“Are you willing?” Glorfindel asked carefully.

The lord of Imladris sighed. “No, not particularly. However this is the first time in at least a century that Thranduil has reached out for help. I feel that refusing him may do more harm than good.” he shrugged, glancing at both of his friends. “What can it hurt to see what he wants?”

“Nothing, I suppose.” Glorfindel huffed. “When does he need a response?”

“As soon as possible,” Elrond began to pull out paper and his ink well. “He said he was contacting a few others who may remain in his realm for longer than we will, though he would like for us to stay a goodly amount of time.” he tapped the quill against his lower lip, then carefully began to list all the things he would have to accomplish before leaving. “I think we should plan to leave in three months. Take a road through Lórien to visit with Arwen and head north from there.”

“Why three months?” Erestor asked, starting on his own list of tasks.

“That should give Elrohir plenty of time to get used to ruling in my absence. Messengers will also need the time to deliver our travel plans.'

Erestor nodded absently, jotting down what documents Elrond would need to look at before his departure.

“Seems reasonable.” Glorfindel said. “So what are you going to do that is unreasonable?”

Elrond smiled. “Take few guards. Myself, you, Elladan, a score of guards. Nothing more.”

“Would it not be easier to head east through the Misty Mountains rather than going to Lórien?” Elrohir asked.

“Distance wise it would be shorter. But we've had reports of unusual happenings there. Tales of a mass goblin settlement.” Erestor answered grimly. “Better to head through roads we know are safe than risk the lord of our home.”

“Right, of course.” the elder son of Elrond meekly replied. “Can't I go, Ada?” he added.

“No.” Elrond smiled to lessen his response. “This will be a good experience for you to run Imladris, with Erestor's help. It also helps that Elladan is far more interested in scholarly works than you are.”

His son sighed. “I suppose. I would like to see Mirkwood though.”

“Someday, ion. This is the first step in strengthening ties between our realms. Perhaps after this, more trips will be encouraged.”

With resigned sighs, the twins left for their own rooms, leaving the older three elves to discuss the trip in more detail.

“Do you truly think this is wise?” Erestor questioned once they had left, picking up Thranduil's letter to read himself.

“Wise? I doubt it. Necessary may be a better word. Galadriel and I have both seen that darkness is spreading. Leaving Thranduil to his self imposed exile will do more harm than good in the long run.” Elrond blinked down at his list. “We will need all the help we can get.”

“Thranduil would not willingly accept any offers of help.” Glorfindel mused. “We must approach him on his terms. If he offers this olive branch, it is our duty to respond.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.” Erestor replied, quick eyes scanning the relatively short letter. “I just wonder if there is an ulterior motive.”

“Of course there is!” Elrond laughed. “He is being rather blunt about it. He wants something and needs me to get to it. It doesn't sound as if it's terribly dangerous and the overall trip will be worth it.” He finished his list with a flourish. “Tomorrow we shall write the letter accepting the king's invitation. Once it is in the hands of his messenger, it will be too late to change our minds. We will just have to deal with whatever happens.”

The other two elves nodded, unhappy with the course of action but knowing there was little that could be done about it.

The following three months saw an upswing in communication between the two realms. The king of Mirkwood even sent detailed maps with clearly marked trails so that Elrond's party would know exactly where to go and how to get there. He also sent along a lengthy report about all suspicious activity, urging them to follow the Anduin north and not cross it until they were a good distance away from Dol Guldur. 

Elrond was of half a mind to ignore him, thinking that perhaps Thranduil was just trying to show off. Glorfindel and Elladan convinced him otherwise, pointing out that Thranduil would know his lands and its dangers better than anyone else. 

When they arrived in Lórien and received similar reports from Galadriel's scouts, Elrond finally agreed that Thranduil was only trying to help, in a rather heavy handed manner. 

With the information from both realms at their disposable, the small group made good time and reached the entrance to the Old Forest Path several days ahead of their proposed travel time.

* * *

**2936-2937**

Lord Elrond's company waited impatiently by the entrance of the Old Forest Road. They had arrived a few days before originally planned. Letters from the king had promised them a guide so they would not get lost and Elrond was unwilling to attempt the forest without one. He had hoped that a scout or a patrol would have been sent to keep an eye out for their arrival. However, they had been waiting several hours and no guide was in sight. 

Elrond sighed, and was just about to call for them to camp for the night when an elf emerged from the forest. She bowed deeply once she was near the Lord of Imladris' horse.

“My apologies, my lord. We did not expect you for another few days.”

The elven lord waved away the apology. “We got an early start from Lórien, perhaps we should have waited?” he inquired.

“Nay, just forgive us for our lack of preparedness. I am Tauriel, Captain of the Guard. Welcome to Greenwood the Great.”

“Greetings, Captain.” He quickly introduced the rest of his company. Nods were shared among the group. “Is it just you to lead us to the mountain?”

“Nay, lord. I will lead you along the trail, but several of my guard will be accompanying us within the forest itself.”

“Will the horses be able to continue with us?” Glorfindel asked, patting his horse's neck.

“Of course, m'lord. 'Tis easier to travel the woods swiftly without a horse, but we are prepared to house your companions.”

“Good, I would not want to leave them behind.” Glorfindel replied, pleased with the answer.

“As well you shouldn't,” Tauriel remarked, looking over the warrior's white horse. “For he is a splendid beast indeed.”

Glorfindel beamed, looking quite ready to tell the Greenwood Captain all about his breeding programs.

“Later, Captain.” Elrond chided his own captain of the guard. “Let us first get to safety.”

Tauriel nodded and turned back into the woods. “Be sure you follow me,” she warned. “The forest is not as peaceful as those you are used to. If you do go off the path, one of the guards will direct you back.”

“What happens if we were to go off the path?” Elladan asked curiously.

“The forest can be disorienting to those unfamiliar with it.” Tauriel informed them, “Which is why my king asked that you wait for an escort.”

“Disorienting?” Elrond questioned.

Tauriel looked back at the lord. “Yes. It becomes easy to lose sight of the road, to get lost within the forest itself. We know of at least three spider nests within about ten miles of here. It would be simple to unknowingly wander into them.”

“If you know where they are, why don't you destroy them?” Glorfindel asked, annoyed that a threat to security had been ignored.

“Because they have been of some help to us. Catching and eating orc parties.” Tauriel explained with a shrug. “We keep enough scouts about that welcome visitors can get through safely.” she paused in thought, before deciding to continue. “The forest is large,” she reminded them. “We must pick our battles carefully.”

The warning that went along with her words was not missed by Elrond or Glorfindel. Both chose to let the matter lie. This was not their realm, they did not understand all the particulars.

“Do you know the reason for our visit?” Elrond asked, changing the topic.

Tauriel did not answer at first. “I do not know specifically,” she admitted. “Though I have my suspicions.”

“Those are?” Elrond nudged, hoping for a clue.

“Those are not my business, m'lord.”

“Ah. When shall we see the king? Upon our arrival, I assume” Elrond asked, dreading the answer. Seeing the king while covered in travel dirt and tired was not something he was looking forward to.

“Alas, no.” Tauriel informed him. “It is canning time, the king is helping with the process. He will return later tonight and formally greet you tomorrow.”

“Canning?” Glorfindel coughed to cover a surprised laugh. “I cannot see him taking up such a pedestrian task.”

Tauriel glanced back at the Imladris captain over her shoulder. “There is much you do not know about our king. Much he does not know about you. Years have passed, is it not likely that things will be different?”

Elrond nodded at the mild rebuke. It may have been directed at Glorfindel, but it applied just as well to him. He settled back onto his saddle and the group fell quiet as they passed through the woods. He looked about him, marveling at the beauty of it all. Through he could see the stain of growing evil, in each patch of darkness, new growth also appeared. A constant reminder that even with death and evil, came life and goodness.

The entry to the Greenwood stronghold was impressive. They paused at the side of a ravine. Down its side they could see a wide river. Even from their height, they could hear the crashing of the rapids as it sped through the forest. The only way to cross the ravine was a simple bridge, perhaps the width of five soldiers. Most daunting about the bridge was the lack of hand rails. On the other side of the ravine sat the doors to the Greenwood palace. They were artfully set into the stone of the mountain, sea green doors that were almost three times the height of any elf. The doorway was thinner than the bridge, clearly meant as a defensive structure, a way of limiting the number of people who could enter at once. The doors stood open, though the guards standing in front of them gave the impression that closing the palace up could be done quickly.

Once inside, the riders dismounted and handed the reins of their horses to the guards and stable hands who waited nearby. The horses and half the guards then went one direction. Before leaving to see to her own guards, Tauriel passed the remaining group off to Thranduil's seneschal, Abana.

She bowed gracefully. “Welcome to Greenwood the Great my lords. We have plenty of rooms, but my king neglected to inquire if your guards would prefer customary guest rooms or the guest barracks?”

“I think they would prefer to be in the barracks, though permitted to guard our rooms.”

Abana inclined her head. “Of course my lord. If you would follow me, I shall direct you to your rooms, then take the guards to theirs.” She turned and led them further into the mountain.

“If I may, Abana, what can we expect of our time here?”

She glanced back, “My king thought you would like the rest of the day to relax and unwind. He will officially greet you tomorrow, when he returns from canning. Then we shall have a feast to honor your visit. Only once that is done shall you attend to business.”

“Ah.” Elrond shared a look with Glorfindel. “Any other guests we should know about?”

“Radagast the Brown has a room near yours, though he has spent most of his time in the forest. Iarwain Ben-adar has settled into one of the sparser inhabited sections. He has been out in the forest with Radagast.”

The visiting elves blinked surprised at the names of their companions and continued their trip in silence. They reached their rooms quickly.

Abana opened a door, then handed Elrond the key. “Within are a suite of rooms. Five bedrooms around a central sitting room. There's also a washroom and a small cooking fireplace. A meal will be brought to you in two hours. If you would like to explore, please feel free. Everyone knows we have visitors and will be helpful in getting you back to your rooms.”

“Thank you, Seneschal.” murmured Elrond, following his son and Glorfindel into the suite.

He shut the door behind him, and leaned against it while taking in the opulence of the suite. Like the rest of the halls they passed through, it was impossible to tell that they were within a mountain. Light and fresh air were abundant, giving the impression of trees rather than stone.

“Ada,” Elladan said turning towards him “How on Arda did the king get _Tom Bombadil_ to leave his forest?”

“I have no idea.” was the dazed answer. “Whatever purpose he has brought us all here for is much bigger than I originally thought.” Elrond's thoughts raced. Thranduil was seeking aid from one of the oldest, if not The Eldest, being in all of Middle Earth. A being who rarely left his home near the Shire. The possibilities of Thranduil's request now weighed upon him, perhaps it was a mistake to come to Greenwood.

“We shall have to be careful,” Glorfindel advised. “Neither of you should go anywhere without a guard.”

“What?” exclaimed the youngest elf. “That's not fair! Surely the king hasn't planned to torment us!”

“I'm sure he hasn't, ion.” Elrond soothed. “But I agree with Glorfindel, we must be cautious. He has invited a powerful wizard and an ancient, magical being. Until we know our purpose, and even after we know, we shall not allow anything, or anyone to take advantage.”

Elladan pouted, but agreed. He turned from his elders to pick his room, choosing the one in the middle because he knew it would please his overprotective guardians. Once he entered, Elrond and Glorfindel shared a smile and randomly picked rooms themselves.

* * *

Glorfindel had finished bathing and was carefully re-braiding his hair when a knock sounded from the door. He sighed, annoyed, but rose to answer it.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Begging your pardon, m'lord.” Bobbed the ellon. “I'm Iatmos, from the kitchens.”

Glorfindel nodded, “what can I do for you, friend?”

“We've begun preparing your evening repast,” he said, “the cooks sent me down because we were unsure of any dietary restrictions. Cook Worack says that some elves do not eat meat, we didn't want to offend.”

“Ah,” Glorfindel smiled. “I thank you for your consideration. We do eat very little meat in Imladris, but some would be appreciated.”

Another bob, “Yes m'lord, anything else?”

“No, thank you. The rooms are amply supplied.” assured Glorfindel.

“Excellent. Your meal will be delivered in an hour or so, if that suits?”

“It does, thank you. Oh, and please thank the cooks for their thoroughness.”

“I shall m'lord.” Iatmos bowed again, before moving swiftly down the hall, towards the kitchen Glorfindel presumed.

“Who was that?” Elrond asked, emerging from his own bath.

“A servant, asking about our food preferences.”

“That's nice of them. I suppose the elves here must eat more meat than we do, with so little farmland and no nearby neighbors who can grow to a surplus.”

The food arrived at the hour, just as Iatmos as said. It was a pleasing mix of foods, rice with vegetables, fresh salads, fruits and nuts. All wonderfully delicious. The meat was contained in a delightfully delicate stew, one that only Elladan turned his nose up against.

“I'm sorry, ada. I just can't eat it knowing it was once an animal.”

“It is alright,” Elrond sad, tasting the stew carefully. “Not all elves can stomach eating the flesh of others, it is quite good though.”

Glorfindel had no such qualms and happily filled his bowl to the brim. “I'm sure that the animals were treated humanely and their sacrifices were honored.”

“I hope so,” Elladan said, looking at the stew pot dubiously. He happily returned to his own selections and the meal continued.

Once their bellies were full, Glorfindel went to check on their soldiers while Elrond and Elladan continued to speculate on the reason for the visit. They had made no further headway when the Captain returned.

“How are our people?” Elrond asked.

“Comfortable.” Glorfindel reported. “They've been given the run of the practice yards and permission to watch several classes while we are here. There was even talk of some friendly sparring between the realms. I think I may join them some time myself.”

“It is nice of Thranduil to be so considerate.” Elrond stated.

“It worries me, honestly” Glorfindel revealed carefully. He had spent much of their trip wondering about why the isolated king would appeal for help _now_.

“Why is that?” Elladan asked.

“The nicer he is, the bigger the thing he wants. Or the more dangerous. Or something.”

“We will find out tomorrow,” Elrond said calmly. “No point in guessing games, let us go to bed. Good night Glorfindel, good night ion.”

The other two wished the Imladris lord a good night and retreated to their own rooms.

* * *

Despite their unspoken trepidation, none of the visiting elves had any difficulty sleeping beneath the Greenwood mountain. They were all well rested the next morning when another servant came to invite them to breakfast. 

“You can, of course, have your meal delivered here,” she assured, “But we thought you may like to join the others.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Elrond agreed.

They followed the elf towards the main hall, tables were set up waiting for hungry diners. At the time the Imladris elves arrived, only a third were filled.

“Surely more elves than this are in residence?” Glorfindel asked.

The servant glanced back at them, “Yes, m'lord. Several eat at odd times to accommodate their work schedules. Others eat in one of the other halls. This one,” she said, gesturing towards the room. “is for elves with more rank than most.”

“Ah,” Elrond said, sitting where he and the others were directed.

“Trays will be passed around shortly,” was explained, before the servant left to tend to her other duties.

The elves of Imladris looked about the room as they waited for a tray to come their way. While this dining hall may have been for those with more rank, Elrond could not discern how each was ranked in relation to the other. He saw Captain Tauriel at a table not far away, eating with several others. None wore a badge of rank, so he had no idea if they were other guards or nobility. 

Elrond gave up trying to understand this aspect of Greenwood politics and decided to just enjoy his breakfast.

A tray finally came, carried by Iatmos. “My lords” he greeted cheerfully.

“Good morning, Iatmos,” Glorfindel smiled, causing the young elf to flush at having his name remembered. “What treats do you have there?”

Iatmos explained the breakfast foods he was carrying and told them more trays would be by soon. If there was something specific they wanted to eat he informed them that they just needed to ask a server. 

“Tell me, Iatmos,” Elrond said, “I do not see the king, does he not eat breakfast with the masses?” His tone was teasing and he hoped the servant picked up on that.

Iatmos smiled. “The king prefers to eat in his rooms.”

Elrond nodded thoughtfully. “Do you know when we will see him?”

“I do not m'lord. But I can ask if you want?”

“Only if it's convenient.”

Another bob, then the servant was off and replaced by another with a different tray. So breakfast went. A carefully choreographed, chaotic event.

* * *

When the meal was over and plates cleared, The Imladris elves found themselves at a loss. None of them knew where the king's study was or even if the king wanted to see them quite yet. They were quietly debating amongst themselves when Abana approached.

“My lords,” she greeted. “I hope breakfast was suitable.”

“It was indeed, Seneschal. What can we do for you?”

“If you are ready, the king has asked to meet with you.”

“Of course,” Elrond said, standing up and gesturing for his Captain and son to follow him. “Will we be meeting him in his throne room?”

Abana smiled serenely. “Nay, the matter of your visit is pressing upon him. He would meet with you in his study.”

She led through various halls until they came to a pair of solid oak doors. “Go right on in,” she instructed, then turned and left. The trio stood for several minutes, taking in the doors that were elaborately carved with flowering vines.

Elrond glanced back at his companions, squared his shoulders and opened the doors. Inside was just as phenomenal as the rest of the underground fortress. High ceilings with lots of natural light, the room did not feel as if it existed inside a mountain. Seated on a divan near a window reclined the king of Greenwood.

He wore no crown, his hair was unadorned and unbraided. Unless one knew, few were likely to pick him as one of the most powerful elves on Arda. He rose to greet them, his silver-y robes revealing his height. His preference for elaborate trappings became apparent as a ring bejeweled hand swept out, presenting the room in welcome.

“Lord Elrond,” he greeted. “Lord Glorfindel. Is this young Lord Elladan?”

“Aye, it is.” Elrond confirmed.

“Wonderful. Please, come in, have a seat. Do you require anything?”

“No, thank you.” Elrond demurred, as did his captain and his son. They settled onto comfortable chairs that were placed near the king's divan.

“I hope,” the king began, “that Greenwood's hospitality has been up to par?”

“It has, m'lord.” Elrond reassured. 

“I'm glad to hear that.” Thranduil smiled slightly, before seating himself on the divan. Silence fell upon them.

“Your highness? Thranduil?” Elrond asked.

“Hmm?” Thranduil shook himself from his reverie, refocusing on his guests. “Yes, I suppose I should tell you why you are here. Oddly enough, I had no problems telling Radagast or Iarwain. I find myself apprehensive.” the king admitted.

“It cannot be that bad,” Glorfindel said.

“No. I suppose it isn't. Asking for help is never an easy thing.” He let out a breath, stood up impatiently and poured himself a small drink from a nearby table. Once he was reseated, he twirled the glass stem between his fingers. “Aerin passed almost an age ago.” he started.

“Yes, those were dark days.” Elrond said quietly.

Thranduil looked up and nodded at the unspoken sympathy. “I never expected to meet anyone else.”

“You’ve found someone new?” Elladan asked.

“Indeed I have. Therein lies the problem.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “I do not see it. Is your son opposed to the union?”

Thranduil pursed his lips. “Legolas has made his feelings about it known. He wants me to be happy, but has reservations.”

“Why?” Elrond asked, hoping that the king would just spit it out.

“My companion is a mortal. A man of Esgaroth.”

“Oh.” Elrond said, sitting back in surprise. “I can see why your son would not agree with your relationship. Why ask for our help?”

The king placed his glass on a nearby table and leaned towards the Imladris elves. “The few years we could have together are not enough. I want to be with him forever.” the king announced fiercely. 

The trio of visiting elves were stunned at his strong assertion. The same thought ran through each of their minds: Thranduil had never made secret his dislike of other races.

“Forever, Thranduil?” Elrond repeated, forgetting for a moment the discord that had been between them for centuries.

“Yes.”

“But. Even when Lúthien pledged herself to Beren-”

“Beren and Lúthien died.” Thranduil interrupted, “They died and it was through Mandos' intervention that they were even given the opportunity of rebirth. It makes sense that he would tie their new life span to that of the mortal. They were given a second chance.” He shifted forward, passion burning in his eyes as he met Elrond's. “I believe that a similar bonding could be made between two lovers without the inconvenient death.”

Elrond leaned back, blinking. 

It was Elladan who recovered first. “So you think the choice we're given is because of Mandos' good will?”

The king flicked an eye towards the younger elf, he looked ready to dismiss the irrelevant question, but sternly reminded himself to remain polite. “I do, young lord. Before their...” Elrond and Glorfindel watched as Thranduil swallowed down whatever words he was going to say. “Before their relationship, there is no record of an Elf and a Mortal falling in love, much less marrying and producing a child. They set a course which may not have been the one we were meant to take.”

Glorfindel caught on before the half elves. “You think that the binding may have been meant to go towards the life of the Eldar.”

Thranduil nodded shortly. “I do. To find love, then have it torn away because of old age and death seems exceptionally cruel of Illúvatar.”

“No one ever said he was kind,” Elrond protested quietly.

“Very true. It is likely he had not even considered what would happen if a Mortal and Elf feel in love. Beren and Lúthien died, forcing Mandos' hand. Events may not have turned out as they otherwise would have. Look at Tuor and Idril, we do not know their fate. They could be living together happily in Aman. None of the Istari have answered questions about them.”

“Alright,” Elrond said slowly. “You are looking for a way to bind your man to you. Why ask my help?”

Thranduil snorted derisively. “Who else is there? No,” he held up a hand. “I do not mean that how it sounds. The Lady Galadriel and I have a history that makes working together unpleasant. Celeborn, while a distant relative, will share all with his wife. As he should. Círdan, while a great a great and wise lord, is much taken with his ships. I could not ask him to leave them and attend to my business. Besides, I rather thought you would like the challenge.”

“A challenge it is indeed.” Elrond was already thinking of what books to look through.

“How does your man feel about it?” Glorfindel asked suddenly.

“I havn't told him yet.”

“Does he not deserve to know your plans?” Glorfindel pushed.

“Of course he does!” Came with a glare. “However I would rather give him a hopeful option than an empty promise. If there is nothing that can be done, I will enjoy our time together, what we have. Then I will mourn him when he is gone. I suspect...” The king's voice slowed and dropped to just above a whisper. “I suspect that I will not remain on Arda for long after he passes. This world has taken many loves from me.”

“I imagine this is why Legolas is against your relationship.” Elladan said brusquely.

The king glared at him. 

The youth quickly backpedaled. “I mean your plans for when your man passes, to leave Arda. Surely Legolas does not want to be left alone.”

The glare softened, and Thranduil laughed ruefully. “I suspect it is more that he does not want to be king.”

Elrond threw a glare at his son for being so tactless. “So to solve the problem,” he said to the king, “you bring together minds that can help you. Iarwain I understand. Why Radagast? Why not Saruman or Gandalf?”

They waited as Thranduil took a drink from his glass. He stared at its contents for several moments. “Saruman has been setting my nerves on edge the last few times I've seen him. Honestly, he rarely comes this far North from Isengard. I'm not sure I would welcome him if he did. Gandalf has too many tricks up his sleeve. I do not know how far to trust him. Radagast may not be the researcher that they are, but he is honest and hardworking. He and Iarwain make a good team.”

Another look between Glorfindel and Elrond, they had held similar discussions about the more powerful wizards.

“Iarwain came without Goldberry?” Elladan asked curiously.

“He did, it seems his lovely wife cannot go to far from her river. They speak, he assures me, passing messages along the waterways. She knows all that he does and has helped direct us to a few obscure tomes I would not have considered.”

“She's really helping?” 

“It seems that I have piqued her romantic streak.” Thranduil said, a smile in his voice, if not on his face.

“Alright,” Elrond agreed after a long silence of contemplation. “I will help you, though I may have to return to Imladris and my own books.”

“It is enough to know that you will help,” Thranduil replied gratefully.

“Before we catch up with Radagast and Iarwain, tell us more of your man.”

Thranduil finally smiled, a full, contented smile as he told them of his Bard.

The Imladris elves learned that Bard was a man of Esgaroth, raising his three children while doing whatever jobs he found. A jack-of-all-trades in more than one sense of the term. He was a fine bowman, an able navigator on Long Lake and a kind, generous man to his friends and family.

“He does not think I know,” Thranduil confided, “But Bard is a direct descendant of Girion, the last king of Dale.”

“And how _do_ you know that?” Elladan asked.

The king looked at him, disappointed. “I knew Girion, child. His passing was unfortunate. Bard looks quite like him.”

“It is not well known?” Glorfindel asked.

“Oh, no. The Master of Esgaroth does not take kindly to threats to his power. Bard's family has done much to hide themselves away.”

Elrond hummed, thinking back to what he remembered of Dale. Privately he would admit that he remembered more about the city itself than its residents. “What can you tell us of the people of Dale? Since he is a descendant.”

Thranduil explained all that he could about the residents of Dale. They were descendants of the Edain. None had any elven blood in them, but living so close to elves and dwarves had changed them. 

“Changed how?” Elrond asked, his interest piqued.

“They can speak with some animals, thrushes especially seem to flock to them. When Bard first began working the barge here he said it made work quite difficult, but the birds were thrilled to have someone to talk to and share their tidbits of information with. Bard started feeding them bits of food to keep them at bay.”

“Can he speak to just birds?”

Thranduil shrugged elegantly. “It is the only animal I have seen him talk to, though there are rarely others about when we meet. I do not even take Yory, my elk, when we meet. He has said that he doesn't struggle as much as others to get the cats and dogs of Lake-town to do as he bids.”

“Talks to animals,” Elrond murmured. “Tell me, are they long lived?”

“The animals?” Thranduil asked, purposefully obtuse.

“The men of Dale.” Elrond stared flatly at the king.

“Often less than half a century, though Bard tells me that this is more because times are hard. Food is scarce in Lake-town, with the Master hoarding what he will. With good food and reasonable health, Bard says they can often make it to just shy of the century mark.”

“Much like the men of Rohan.”

“Why is this important?” Thranduil asked, “Knowing what type of man he is?”

“It could change what we're looking for.” Elrond explained. “If he had some elvish in him, certain options may not work. Knowing how the Men of Esgaroth are different than the Men of Gondor or Rohan, or even Khand and Harad gives us more to work with and, at the same time, narrows down our search.”

“I suppose that is reasonable.”

Elrond nodded. “We shall go to your library, I assume that is where we will find Radagast and Iarwain?”

“A small study room just off of the library,” the king agreed, rising from his seat. “I will show you. I cannot say if either of them will be there. Radagast is conducting his own research while here, looking into our spider problem. Iarwain comes and goes on a schedule all his own.”

Elrond nodded, unsurprised. “What is your availability to answer questions or make clarifications?”

Thranduil thought for a moment, leading them down a hallway. “For most things, you can simply ask any servant if I am available. Only if a matter is grave will I refuse you.” He stopped in the hall and turned towards his guests. “I truly do appreciate that you are willing to help me with this. I hope your search here goes well, for doing this when you are back in Imladris will be cumbersome.”

“An inconvenience it may be,” Elrond agreed, “But likely necessary. Once I see what sources you have, I will have a better understanding of where to look at home. Plus, I am closer to Goldberry and could talk to her personally instead of relying on Iarwain to relay messages.”

“I suppose there is truth in that.”

They arrived in the library, a room just as open and awe inspiring as the rest of the mountain. Thranduil lead them to a room along the right hand side and ushered them in.

“There are two entrances, the one through the library and then that door there,” he gestured. “That one leads to a hall that, if you go left, will eventually take you back towards the guest suites. Directly across is a balcony that overlooks one of our gardens, feel free to use it whenever you need a break. Anything else you need, ask a servant. Though my librarians would prefer that you keep food and drink away from their hoard.”

“I completely agree,” Elrond smiled.

* * *

Thranduil left them in the study room. A quick check showed it was barely midday and he had some time before he needed to return to his duties. He headed towards the pens where the elks often stayed. A few hours with them could soothe his heart and his mind as little else could.

He had been as truthful as possible with Elrond, telling him things about himself and Bard that he revealed to few people. Things that Legolas and even Bard himself did not know. 

He had not mentioned his plan to Bard. Deep in his heart he was afraid that Bard would refuse him. Rejection would probably kill him more swiftly than grief. The Man was intelligent though, the king had to trust that Bard would do nothing that would lead to his own death. Nerves and anxiety jumbled together in his stomach.

The pens found Yory and his young calf nosing at the trough for treats. Thranduil could see the hoof marks of the mother, who had become impatient waiting and left again.

He indulged the waiting pair with some nice fresh apples, smiling to himself when Yory nudged his calf's head in the right direction. So much life around him. Death too. Yory was almost fifteen years old. The care that the elves provided would see him living at least another ten, but life was short for most creatures of Arda. 

Once the treats were consumed, Yory wandered to the water trough. The unnamed calf nudged at Thranduil's hand, clearly hoping for more.

“Alas, young one. One apple is a treat.” He stroked the soft fur behind the calf's ears. “Come, I shall brush you instead, that is far more rewarding.”

Rewarding it was, the calf gave every sign of enjoying his grooming. It helped Thranduil as well. He had found assistance in his search. There was little left for him to do. Scholarly work had never suited him, he could research when it was required, but the skill was something he knew to delegate to those who were better at it.

“There is nothing more I can do.” Thranduil informed the calf. “I can just answer what questions I can, feed the scholars, and wait for an answer. It may take years.” he leaned closer to the calf's ear. “I do hope it doesn't take too long, Bard will not be around forever.”

The calf turned his head, flicking its ear away from the king's breath, causing him to laugh.

There discussion was cut short as Abana came to fetch him. It was time to return to his duties.

* * *

The official welcome feast for the elves from Imladris took place that night. It was a highly organized, and potentially ostentatious event. Thranduil enjoyed every minute of it. 

At his table sat Lords Elrond and Elladan, Captains Glorfindel and Tauriel, the Wizard Radagast, Iarwain with a small pot of water, and Abana.

Conversation was pleasant. Those working on Thranduil's project kept their discussion obscure, making it sound as if they were simply researching past relationships between Men and Elves.

Glorfindel and Tauriel were discussing the training that most Greenwood elves take part in. The Captain had quickly grown bored with the research and was looking for something new to occupy his time. 

“My king, would it be possible for Captain Glorfindel to lead some lessons for the guard?” she asked hopefully.

Thranduil flicked his fingers toward her. “If he does not object and Lord Elrond permits it. Remember he is a guest”

“Of course m'lord.” She and Glorfindel turned their attention to the elf lord, who nodded his approval. The two warriors bent their heads together to come up with a training schedule.

Elrond and Iarwain were heatedly discussing what their research had so far turned up, Thranduil hoped they would manage to keep the volume low and not come to blows. 

Radagast, Elladan, and Abana were discussing the differences of flora and fauna between Greenwood and Imladris. All three seemed engaged with the conversation.

Thranduil smiled and leaned back in his seat, letting the sounds of his people feasting wash over him. He repeated to himself that he had done all he could, it was up to those more capable than he to find a likely solution.

* * *

Elrond and his company stayed for two months. It was as winter was fading into spring that he approached Thranduil about their progress.

“We have learned much from your library, as well as Iarwain and Goldberry. Radagast,” he added with a smile, “is a sound researcher, but he is easily distracted by any number of things.”

“What have you found?” Thranduil asked quietly.

“It may be possible.” revealed the Elf Lord.

The king drew in a deep breath, afraid to question him further.

“However,” he continued. “There is still much we do not know. Goldberry has made it quite clear that there are more magics in this world than we understand. More than we elves can control. Even if we find a specific way, we may be unable to accurately use the magic needed.”

“What would you suggest?” the king whispered.

“You may need to bring in the rest of the wizards, perhaps even the full power of the White Council.”

“That would mean Galadriel.”

“Yes.”

“I would prefer to avoid that, if we can.”

“I know, my friend.” Elrond said, placing his hand on the king's shoulder. “But she is wise and powerful. Adding her resources and abilities may give us the boost we need. Perhaps it is time to put aside the ancient animosity between the Noldo and the Sindars?”

Thranduil pursed his lips. “Let that be our last option. What do you need now?”

“Truly?” Elrond sighed, his hand dropping from the king's shoulder. He took a seat in the same study they had first talked early in the winter. “I need to get home. I need to see to my own realm. I also think several of my own books, that you lack copies of, will be of help.”

The king sighed deeply, rising from his seat and getting himself and the elf lord a drink. “I knew it was unlikely that you would find the solution while you were here. But I had hoped.”

Elrond accepted his glass, “Do not think of this as a defeat. Together we have narrowed it down to several possibilities, but we want what is best for you both. That will take time.”

“Bard does not have a lot of time.”

“No,” Elrond agreed, enjoying a sip of wine. “But he has some, more than you may think. For now, enjoy the time you have together. Be sure this is what you want. I highly suspect that when we find the answer, there will be no going back.”

A nod. “You will depart soon, then?”

“Aye, both Erestor and Lindir have written saying that poor Elrohir is at his wits end. Seems that the young son of one of my resident's has been pushing his luck.”

“One of your humans?” for once in their long history, Thranduil did not sneer the term.

“Yes, he's just turned five.”

Thranduil smiled, “That is Tilda's age. Bard's youngest.” He clarified.

“Ah, is she... uh, rambunctious?”

The king laughed. “Tilda is, admittedly as spoiled as her circumstances allow. Being the youngest and having no memory of her mother, the whole family dotes on her. She is such a light though, so optimistic and curious.” he leaned towards Elrond, “you probably shouldn't mention it to Legolas, but she greatly reminds me of him when he was young.”

Elrond threw back his head, laughing gaily. “No, if Legolas' concerns about your partnership are as you say, he would not enjoy the comparison. I admit I rather like having the humans around, my children are all grown up. Arwen spends most of her time in Lórien, it gets lonely and quiet.”

“Yes.” Thranduil's mood turned somber, but he shook is head to dispel the nostalgia of Legolas' childhood. 

“We won't leave just yet,” Elrond said, going back to the reason for his visit. “A week or so, I think. Send word that we're returning. Tomorrow might be a good day for the four of us to get together and discuss our findings.”

“Just the four of you?”

“Elladan has been helpful, but once he's helped find the information, he has no real interest in it any longer.” Elrond shrugged at his son's quirks. “He's been spending time with your guards and Glorfindel for the past few weeks.”

The king quirked an eyebrow. “You mean since the research got banal?”

“Basically.”

“Very well,” Thranduil stood. “Tomorrow after noon meal, will that give you enough time to consolidate your research?”

Elrond stood as well. “More than enough.”

* * *

The next day saw Thranduil in his office for most of the morning. Trade agreements within elven kingdoms tended to last centuries, but he still had to deal with the day by day administrative tasks. Luckily for him, Abana was very good at organization and always managed to get things done quickly.

He even had enough time to enjoy a leisurely lunch with some of his friends and was still able to head down to the pens to visit with Yory.

All in all, when it was time to meet in the library study room, the king was nervous, but cheerful. 

Within the room sat his three primary sources of information. Elrond sat at the head of a table piled high with books. In front of him were several sheets of parchment with extensive notes. To the side of the room, near the door leading to the hall was Radagast, the birds on his hat chirping quietly and in his arms was, a baby badger, Thranduil determined after a moment. 

The final occupant, Iarwain, was closer to the serving cabinet and appeared to be arguing with the pot of water that went with him everywhere.

“I have been assured that we will not be disturbed unless there is an emergency.” Thranduil announced as he shut the door behind him. “I sent word to have supper delivered later.”

Radagast smiled at him, clearly delighted.

“Excellent,” Elrond concurred. “Please, be seated so we can begin. Iarwain? Do you want to start?”

“Indeed I do, young Master Elrond.” Iarwain brought his pot over to the table, setting it down carefully. He drew himself to his full height and gazed at the other three, every century he had lived written on his face. “When Goldberry and I first received your invitation, we were less than pleased.” He admitted. “Perhaps I should have told you that when I first arrived, but your plea for help with your companion struck a cord with my Goldberry, and here I am.” 

Thranduil flinched slightly, he had known reaching out may have brought derision and had been quite pleased with how everyone tried to be on their best behavior.

“I've been to Lake-town and met your man.” Iarwain revealed, shocking them all. “What? My wife and I agreed to neither help nor hinder until we knew the hearts of both parties. I did not reveal my purpose, but talked with him as a traveling merchant. He has a good heart, you could have done much worse.”

A smile formed unconsciously on the kings face. He may not have wanted to hear the approval he was getting, but it was nice.

“To that end, we have agreed there is information you need to know. Information that we have already shared with Elrond and Radagast. They, and you, are sworn to secrecy. None outside this room shall hear any of this, with the exception of young Master Bard, since he will be effected.”

Iarwain stopped, waiting for verbal agreement from all three members of his audience.

“You were correct, Thranduil. The fate of Lúthien and Beren was altered when she sang her story to Mandos in his halls. Returning the pair to life, without the permission of Illúvatar or Manwë, has had numerous repercussions, the least of them being the choice that Elrond's family can make about living out the lives of Elves or Mortals. It is only their line that can make that choice. No other half elf can. Seems odd, doesn't it?” he asked rhetorically. “Though I am old and Goldberry has access to other magics, we do not know exactly what Ilúvatar's plan was for the inevitable mixing of the two races.”

The elven king forced himself to not wilt. If it was truly hopeless, he knew that Iarwain would not have remained in Greenwood for as long as he had.

“Do not despair, my king. There is always hope. We do not know what his plan was, but we know there was a plan. Or, at least the beginnings of one. It will not be easy to finish the research, and it will be extremely difficult to carry out, but it can be done. There are a number of potions that we will need to look into and recreate, potions that have not been made on Arda for years before your elves came to these shores. Possibly a ritual or two, Elrond has more details.” Iarwain sat down, letting someone else take over.

Distantly, Thranduil could hear some noise coming out of the water pot, it sounded vaguely like singing muffled by a waterfall. Iarwain's words did give him hope. To know it was possible! It was more than he had hoped to discover.

“I will let Radagast say his piece before I do,” Elrond waved at the Istari.

Radagast looked up from his badger, startled. “What? Oh, right. Yes.” He carefully set the badger in a nearby basket, smoothing its fur gently. “We Istari are not all-knowing,” he began. “No matter what Saruman and Gandalf would have anyone believe. I fully admit that compared to them, I am not as wise. Healing plants and animals, I can do. Rediscovering ancient ways? That is more difficult. I know this though, King Thranduil.” His gaze pierced the elven king. “No matter what solution we come up with, there will be a price to pay. A steep one. Be sure you are willing to pay it.”

Elrond didn't give Thranduil much time to process the wizard's warning before he began his recitation. “We believe the key is in the type of human Bard is.”

Thranduil cocked his head, curious.

“We've gone back through your records. When men first settled here, Greenwood was already populated, the dwarves were working on the Lonely Mountain. We truly think that some of your otherness settled on these humans. Became part of them, made them different.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, you know I have much experience with the other races of Men, such as the Númenóreans and the Dúnedain. They have some ability to speak with animals, but while they can calm or tame them, they cannot _talk_ with them. But your records clearly state that the men here do talk with the birds, and likely other creatures. The Rohirrim, as close as they are with their horses, are nowhere near the abilities my brother's descendants have. Something here has altered these men.”

The king frowned thoughtfully, his gaze darting between Elrond, Radagast, and Iarwain. “It can't be Dol Guldur, can it? That's much too far away.”

“We... I think,” Elrond said, leaning on the table. “That it is Greenwood itself. Even the elves here are different than others. You do not see it as clearly as I. Remember, I came through Lórien. There are many differences. All of you seem to embrace and celebrate life just a little bit more than the rest of us.”

“The Sindar joined the Silvan elves here in Greenwood, could that have been it?”

“Likely that was the catalyst,” Iarwain agreed, rejoining the conversation. “The Silvan came to these woods first, and had no contact with the others. When the Sindar eventually appeared, led by your father, changes had already happened. Too subtle to be noticed. Bringing your people together has allowed some of that difference to influence you and yours.” He held up a hand. “It is nothing that can do harm, or be stopped. You are as you were meant to be.”

Elrond nodded. “Whatever it was that the Silvan Elves did before the Sindar appeared has infected the entire area, including the mountain and Esgaroth. I think, that if the mountain was still inhabited, we would find that those dwarves are also slightly different than their brethren.”

There was silence for some time as the news sunk in. Despite the fact that the three had been researching together for several months, discussing this as they were brought home the point of how different this area was to the rest of Arda.

“It is unique,” Radagast mused, “No where else do so many races live together peacefully. The closest we get is in Bree where some Hobbits live among the Men. I do not even know of any other races that exists among the Men of the East, though they have some fantastical creatures.”

“Our situation is different,” the king murmured “Maybe...” he trailed off.

“Maybe?” Iarwain prompted.

“Maybe it is why the forest has gotten so dark, perhaps it needs all the races nearby to prosper. Without the dwarves, it's missing a key part.”

Radagast looked thoughtful. “It's possible. The darkness didn't really begin to spread until after Erebor was abandoned. The cause could have been the dwarven exodus, the arrival of the dragon, or anything. The timing is too close.”

Thranduil nodded in agreement. “How will these differences help?” he asked of Elrond.

“If Bard were a completely normal human, many potions or spells would be useless. They could potentially extend his life – not permanently mind you – or kill him outright. Even if he was a member of my brother's line I would be hesitant to use some of the things we have gotten just the barest hints of. But with this unknown quantity we may be able to alter what we find to suit our needs. It will take time, Thranduil.” Elrond said carefully. “We will go as fast as we can, but I do not want to accidentally kill your man because we were hasty.”

“I would prefer to avoid that as well. What now?”

“I shall be returning to my Goldberry.” Iarwain announced. “We have not been parted this long since we wed. She has been speaking with her people and may have some information for us. She could tell me through the pots, but in truth I miss her.”

“I shall also be returning to my home briefly. I need to check on my friends there. Then I will go to Fangorn Forest and speak with an Ent or two. They have long memories.” Radagast informed them.

Thranduil nodded and turned to Elrond. 

“I,” the elf lord said. “Will be returning as well, for the reasons I told you yesterday. We shall be going back through Lórien and I will spend some of my time with the books there.”

“The Lady Gala-” Thranduil started to protest.

“She sees much, yes.” Elrond agreed. “I have already told her that my business with you is my own and if she cannot keep her mind to herself, I will keep my distance until our business is concluded. Once I am home, I will go through my library. Because we are keeping this quiet, I cannot ask Erestor for help. It will take me longer.”

“Just having the thought of hope is a comfort.” the king admitted.

“One last thing,” Iarwain announced. “As Goldberry has been so kind to remind me. Whatever course we take, the fewer who know of it the better. These older types of magic are brittle and persnickety. Too many meddlers may spoil the whole thing. “

“Spoil the whole thing?” Elrond asked, clearly annoyed at just hearing this news.

“It could irrevocably damage the integrity of the spell and kill everyone involved.” The others stared at him in shock. “Or, just make it less effective. Either way, we shouldn't risk it.”

The others all agreed to keep the particular workings of the magic involved a secret. They went so far as to develop a code to use for any correspondence, in case a letter got lost. A simple code was settled upon, one where the first, sixth and tenth letter of every sentence would make up the actual words of the message. 

By the end of the week, Thranduil's guests were gone. With them went his hope for a long life with his lover. He also sent them off with jars of canned apples, peaches, and a delicious gooseberry jam that Sigrid had developed the recipe for.

The last thing Glorfindel said to him was “I honestly thought canning was code for something else. This is such a surprise.”

* * *

**2938**

Within his study, Elrond could hear the birds and waterfalls outside his window. It was a peaceful day in Imladris, one he would be enjoying more if he could just finish solving the puzzle that King Thranduil had set out for him.

He was so close, he could practically taste the resolution. Each time he thought he had it, it danced away from his fingertips, like wisps of smoke. Not only was it frustrating on an academic level, Elrond desperately wanted to help Thranduil.

“Centuries of silence,” the elf lord murmured to himself, “seems as if everything to come is balanced on the success of this seemingly simple task.” The visions he has been seeing lately showed Legolas as a key part. Deep down, Elrond feared that if he failed to help Thranduil with his request, Legolas would be kept inside Greenwood's borders. Without him, Elrond was sure that the nebulous future event he glimpsed would fail.

He took the documents and placed them in a secured cabinet. Enough of the day had been wasted indoors, the rest would not be. He would take Estel out into the woods, teach him some more about tracking, maybe play a game.

Plan firmly in mind, Elrond turned to the door. Before he could open it though, he felt and heard the air beat down from the wings of a large bird. He looked back at the window and saw a large owl carrying a parcel in its talons.

“Where are you from, my friend?” Elrond asked softly as the owl deposited the box carefully onto his desk. “Did Radagast send you?”

The owl hooted softly in response.

“Is it something that needs my immediate attention?”

No hooting, but the owl shook it's head and ruffled its feathers.

“I shall take that as a no. Does he need a response?”

The owl repeated its feather ruffling, then turned and flew out the window.

“Well.” Elrond looked at the box, then outside again. “No, I shall spend the rest of the day with Estel.” He placed the box in the same cabinet as his notes, and left to find his many times great nephew.

* * *

It was several days before Elrond had the time to return his attention to Thranduil's Puzzle, as he had begun to call it in the privacy of his thoughts. It was a strain for him, being unable to share his thoughts with his closest friends. It had been decided before leaving Greenwood that no mention of the quest would be made to anyone else, even Glorfindel and Elladan who had been there to hear what Thranduil wanted. They would never know if Elrond and his cohorts continued their search. Already they had become suspicious of his preoccupation. A simple rebuff, made to both his friend and his son, guaranteed that they would keep out of his research. 

Instead of sitting at his desk, Elrond took his notes and the package over to his comfortable sofa. Much better for digging through a box. He placed it gently on the floor and used a small dagger to cut open the twine. On top of the hay that was protecting the contents was a folded note.

Decoded, it read:

_Elrond,_

_Greetings and Salutations. I have much information to pass on to you that will help with our mission._

_First, I have been to Fangorn Forest and spoken to Treebeard. It took him a while, but he does remember the Entwives talking about other races of Arda bonding to stay together for as long as possible. Unfortunately, Treebeard couldn't remember much else and as the Entwives have long since gone missing, this may remain a mystery._

_He did say that he had a vague memory of the ent draught being used in some capacity. He could not tell me how, or how much, but I've bottled some up and included it in this package. It shouldn't be too terribly difficult to get more. Treebeard then suggested that I head out to Harad and Khand. As you know, several of my brethren have sought residence there. I figured it was high time we met up again._

_The trip East was rather boring, though I imagine my rabbits and I caused quite a stir!_

_I have spoken to many people here and in Harad. Wise men, priests, warlords, thieves. They all said basically the same thing._

_The final spell must be worded very carefully. The spell we are trying to recreate has a will of it's own, too much leeway and Thranduil and Bard will end up buried together, spending their eternity side by side in a way we did not intend._

_A sage here in Khand recommended writing the spell to start, then translating it in as many languages as possible to be sure there are no loopholes for the magic to find. What the spell is, I'm still unsure._

_Gossip spreads quickly here, as each night after my meetings I was met by small hoards of well wishers. They each had some piece of advice and offered a token to aid us in our search. I've included several, and kept many duplicates for myself. It seems that out here, there is much faith placed on items of luck._

_I feel we will need as much luck as possible._

Radagast had scratched out the next line.

_Blast, I almost forgot. Before crossing the border I stopped in Gondor. I briefly met with Steward Turgon, who is doing a fine job of keeping orcs out of his lands. I was given access to his archives, but they are not very tidy. There was one line that caught my eye, a bit from a rather unknown poet who lived during the time of Isildur. It read “Great power from starlight to aid us in all. From whence it comes, great love for all.”_

_I realize it seems unrelated, but I have such a feeling that there is more to it than we think. If it is possible to get some starlight, that could only benefit us._

_As soon as I send Silit off with my findings, I shall travel north through Rhun and head home to Rhosgobel. Once there, I will report on any new findings. Keep me updated if you can, I suspect I will need to be with you when it's time to test our conclusions._

_Always yours  
Radagast._

A much shorter note than Elrond was expecting. Reaching into the box, he removed the corked bottle of ent draught and held it up, watching the contents swish around in the sunlight. He shook his head and placed it to the side. The other trinkets included a carved bit of oliphaunt tusk, a bit of whale bone, the scale of some sort of large reptile, and several brightly colored beads and knotted strings.

Superstitions they may be, Elrond could admit that seeing the evidence that other cultures thought they could succeed renewed his spirit.

Now, what had Radagast said? Starlight? Hm.

Before he could begin putting the pieces together, there was a rap at his door.

“Come in,” he called, both enjoying the interruption and annoyed by it.

In stepped Gilraen, Estel's mother.

Elrond rose to greet her, “My friend, what can I do for you?”

“Lindir said you wanted to talk to me, of course he told me this several days ago, I just got distracted.”

The elf laughed. “Estel can be very distracting.”

She smiled slightly and took a seat at Elrond's direction. “You've been so kind to us both.”

“Of course I have, you're family. You must know I'll do whatever I can for you and your people.”

“But you will do more for Estel.” she looked at him, her eyes serious. “I know his future is going to be difficult, I am glad that you and the others are doing what you can to make sure he still has a childhood.”

“Glorfindel loves spending time with that boy. Especially when they are camping. I haven't seen the captain so happy in years.”

“As long as our presence does some good. I can't help but think that we have put you all in danger.”

“No more danger than being elves opposed to the Dark One has brought us.” Elrond soothed her quietly.

They both sat in silence for a while, wrapped up in their own worries for the future.

The woman shook herself and looked at her son's benefactor. “Why did you wish to see me?”

“Ah, well. There's really no way to ask without sounding silly.” Elrond prevaricated.

She raised an eyebrow.

“I'm curious about human fairy tales.”

“Fairy tales?” she repeated. “You can't mean all of them.”

“No, I'm looking specifically at ones where well, basically true love conquers all.”

“Love? Well, I can't say as I know all fairy tales of men, but I'll do my best. Why do you need them? Doesn't your library have them?”

“I need them for a pet project,” Elrond demurred. “My library, while vast, is not the total sum of knowledge on Arda. I would also have your input.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “There's the Swan Princess,” she started slowly. “She was kidnapped by an evil doer and turned into a swan. The only way to break the spell was a vow of everlasting love.”

“Just a vow? No token or deed?”

“As far as I recall, just a vow, one that is witnessed by as many people as possible.” she paused, unsure if she should continue, but Elrond smiled at her. “There’s also the Six Swans, they were brothers who were turned into swans. They could only regain human form when their sister had made each of them a shirt of simbelmyne. While she worked, she could not speak or all her efforts would have been for naught.”

“Did she succeed?”

“Almost, as I recall, she was one sleeve short. Her brothers regained their humans forms, but one lived with a swan wing.”

“Hmm sacrifice and love, so far. Any others?”

“Many others, are you sure you want to hear all that I know?”

“Dear Gilraen, you may be more helpful than you will ever know, I want to hear these stories for both my project and because we are friends. What better way than to spend an afternoon in conversation?”

“As you say,” she agreed, she proceeded to tell him of the Sleeping Beauty, who fell asleep because of a spell to be awoken a hundred years later by a kiss. Next was the Cat's Elopement, two cats who were in love and had many trials to face before being able to settle down together in a safe home. The story of the Hidden One, who could only be seen by someone with a pure heart. Elrond thought that one in particular was apt, as few were willing to see Thranduil as anything other than king, himself included.

They talked long into the night, only stopping when Lindir came to remind them that supper was to be served shortly. Gilraen left to make sure Estel was presentable, and Elrond dawdled in his study, thinking over all that he had learned.

It seemed that sacrifice and love were the two main components in most of the stories he had heard, and wasn't there a grain of truth in all tall tales?

Radagast's travels may have unearthed a truly necessary bit of information that Gilraen's stories supported. A Sacrifice was needed. But what would Thranduil and Bard have to give up? Thranduil had much, yes, but Bard had very little. Their sacrifices could not be equal. 

He sighed. A problem for another day. Now it was time to enjoy a meal with his friends and family.

* * *

Elrond was going back through his notes, adding in all that had he learned from Radagast and Gilraen. It seemed that no matter what their final solution was going to be, something important would be sacrificed. He sighed. So close, yet so far. Nothing they had come across yet had even mentioned if such a binding had a successful outcome, only that it was possible to perform.

He leaned back and rubbed his forehead. A skittering sound from his window made him open his eyes.

To his surprise, a badger climbed in, wearing a very small belt with a pouch that appeared to be full.

“Mae govannen,” Elrond greeted politely.

“Hello,” the badger returned. “I've come with a message from Tom Bombadil to Lord Elrond of Imladris. Are you he?”

“I am, do you need proof?”

“Nay, Old Tom told me what to look for, said you'd have a fancy circlet and look tired.” He reached into his pouched and pulled out a slightly mangled letter. “Sorry about the condition, you big folk use big things. They don't fit well in our pockets.”

Elrond reached for the letter, “Thank you, the condition matters not as long as all the contents are here. Can I offer you food or drink? Perhaps a place to rest for the night?”

“Well, aren't you a nice one.” The badger rose on his back feet, but shook his head. “I appreciate the kindness, but I'm to return home right quick. Got some wee little ones and their mam don't much appreciate it when I'm off not helping.”

Elrond smiled. “I quite remember my wife saying something similar when our children were young. Are you sure I can't give you something for the road?”

“Thank you, but no. Best I get going. You have a nice evening,” The badge turned and scampered out the window before Elrond could respond.

He shook his head in amazement, “I've met more interesting characters since receiving Thranduil's letter than I have in several millenia.”

Speaking of letters, he carefully unfolded Iarwain's.

He squinted at the cramped writing and swore softly to himself. The First he may be, but his writing was atrocious. 

It took him far longer than Elrond would ever admit to decipher the meanings behind what he was fairly positive had been a hen walking across the paper. He resorted to rewriting the letter as he made progress, just to ease his eyes and any headaches in the future.

When he finally had an easy to read copy, he almost didn't want to read it, but he eventually forced himself to. The letter essentially said that Iarwain and Goldberry had gone to visit Goldberry's mother, the River-woman. From her, they had learned that the waters carried the tale of another couple that had bonded as Thranduil wished. Nothing specific, just that it had been successful. According to the River-woman the process had occurred on land, far from shore, and no one spoke of it within the reach of the waters.

They had also included several stories of men falling for other water sprites and attempting the impossible in order to be with them forever. One slept under a tree for twenty years! When the time was up, he arose with small fins on his legs and arms, as well as the ability to breath underwater! He happily joined his love in the waters of Arda.

More gruesome stories had men trying to lure the water sprites to shore, attempting to capture them and keep them on land. Those poor sprites had died horrific deaths.

There was one story of a sprite who had fallen in love with a human. She traded her voice for the ability to walk, but in the end, her love did not love her back and she evaporated into sea foam.

Iarwain concluded his letter by saying that he had done all he could, but he would not leave his home for this quest again. If help was needed, he could only write, not visit. He did suggest that Elrond do his best to procure a feather of a great eagle, a strand of hair from one who has been reborn, and somehow bottle the opening notes of a love song. The elven-lord was fairly sure he was joking with the last directive.

Elrond set the letter down and sighed. More sacrifices. Only now he knew that if they started the spell without the consent of both parties, it would likely end in tragedy. 

He pulled a blank piece of parchment closer to him and opened an ink-pot. Carefully he began listing all of the potential ingredients they would need. Beside each he marked if they already had it and how much they had. Next to the ones he did not have, he noted where it could be obtained and how difficult it would be. 

In the end he had a list of ingredients, more warnings about the dangers of a misstep than he would care to have. But no real idea of what to do with it all. 

Another sheet of parchment was extracted and he wrote of his current findings for Thranduil. The correspondence between the two realms had never been more active. Elrond found he liked communicating with the elven king. Even if he had a bit of a temper.

* * *

With the letter completed, he put the matter aside for the time being. He had as much information as he was going to find, now it was out of his hands. Besides, he had his family, friends, and realm to see to. He would not sacrifice his happiness for Thranduil's.

It was while he was out on a nature stroll with Estel that the solution to Thranduil's problems arrived.

He and Estel had been ambling through the woods surrounding Imladris. Estel was jumping from plant to plant, telling Elrond everything he had learned about it. They were slowly making their way towards a clearing where Elrond planned to have a picnic lunch when they both heard a piercing shriek.

Estel stopped dead in his tracks and looked to Elrond fearfully. “What was that?”

“I don't know, we will have to go see.”

“Must we?” the youth asked.

“We must, it may be a creature that needs our help. We should always be willing to help others.” Elrond lead his charge toward the clearing. He kept one hand on his sword and the other held Estel's.

It was no foe in the clearing. Neither was it an animal in distress. Instead, one of the Great Eagles of Manwë perched upon a boulder, clearly waiting for something.

“Wow,” Estel barely breathed.

“Wow, indeed.” Elrond concurred. He was awed to be in the presence of one of the Great Eagles. He knew they still dwelt in the Misty Mountains, and fully admitted that he had hoped during his trip to the Greenwood he would have seen one. This one seemed different though, brighter, almost, as if it had never been tainted by the darkness that existed in Arda.

Slowly, keeping his hands well away from his sword, but still keeping Estel behind him, he approached the giant bird. It cocked its head at him, bending its head almost perpendicular to the ground. When the two explorers were close enough to touch, the bird suddenly spoke.

“Lord Elrond of Imladris?” Asked the Great Eagle, it's voice surprisingly smooth and silky.

“Yes?”

The eagle bobbed its head. “I bring word from two of your ancestors.”

It thrust forward its right leg, attached to it was a giant version of the leg bands that carrier birds often used for correspondence.

With much trepidation, Elrond moved the few separating feet to open the tube, pulling out several sheaves of parchment bound together with a ribbon and sealed with wax.

“I hope this will help you with your research,” the eagle bobbed it's head again, then left the ground with a flap of its mighty wings, leaving Elrond and Estel staring after it. On the ground lay several dropped feathers, some as long as Estel's arm.

“Wow” Estel repeated.

Elrond laughed and ruffled his foster son's hair. “I don't think anyone back home will believe us.” 

Neither spoke for several long minutes. They just watched the area of the sky the eagle had flown off in. The boy's wonder wore off far faster than Elrond's did. Estel began to fidget during his foster father's introspection. It prodded Elrond into remembering the actual purpose of their trip.

“What say we have some lunch?” he took the basket he had entrusted to Estel back and moved toward a flat area of the clearing. 

“What did the eagle give you, ada?” Estel asked curiously, eyes following Elrond's hands as he unpacked the basket.

“I'm trying to solve a mystery. It looks like someone has decided to help. I don't know what the eagle brought, but I will find out when we get back home. For now, it is time to eat and practice your Quenya.”

Estel wrinkled his nose. “Must we practice Quenya?”

“Indeed we must. But first, you may have your sandwich.”

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly. Estel and his Quenya lessons were more than sufficient to redirect Elrond's attention from the papers in his pocket. His curiosity was tempered by the knowledge that nothing about this puzzle has been done in haste. An afternoon off will not ruin the outcome.

Before leaving and heading back to Imladris, Elrond and Estel collected the dropped feathers. He even permitted the child to keep his favorite among the bunch.

“This is all the proof we need, ada!” Estel cheerfully announced.

* * *

The letter continued to burn a hole in his pocket until after supper. He was so excited that he didn't stay to enjoy the traditional down time in the Hall of Fire. Instead, he excused himself and went to his study.

The news that could be in the letter made Elrond jittery. He forced himself to take out all of his notes so they were easily accessible. Lighting as many candles around his desk as he could to be sure he wouldn't miss anything. Finally, with a glass of water at his elbow, he removed the papers and popped the wax seal.

The ribbon fell to the ground. He gave it only a cursory glance but even that told him it was fine velvet, surely too expensive to be used on letters. The papers in his hand quickly diverted his attention. 

The think vellum was written in a fine hand, perhaps even better than his own and certainly an improvement over Iarwain's.

_My Dearest Grandson,_

The letter began.

_Long have we hoped to contact you, but the Valar have denied our request. To suddenly have a messenger from Manwë appear at our doorstep, we both feared the worse._

_We were told that you are researching how to bind a human and an elf. We have some experience with that. I would continue, but Tuor tells me we should introduce ourselves._

_If you have not guessed, this is your grandparents, Tuor and Idril. The last we had any contact with Arda, we had set out to sea hoping for some way to stop Tuor from dying. What we found was the shores of Aman. Once here, we were presented with the same spell you are looking for. A way to be together forever. Neither the spell nor the way to achieve it were as easy as they sounded._

_I fully suspect that we would not have been permitted to contact you and tell you what you need to know, except Manwë says you are close, and making a mistake now will cause grave issues in Arda's future. He told us no more, all we can do now is guess. We know that the Enemy has been quiet for too long, be sure to keep an ear out for his movements. If the Valar are taking a personal interest in your quest to help the Greenwood King, I suspect that he will have a large part to play in the coming war._

Elrond continued to read, his eyes wide. Before delving into the mystery of what happened to his grandparents, they told him of their lives together, raising his father, and begging the Valar for what scraps of information they could get about himself and Elros. They mourned for Elros as he did. 

He was more overcome than he had expected to be, to read the loving words of a family member. His children filled him with joy, but he was often alone. 

Despite his curiosity, he had to put the papers down to regroup his emotions. He paced towards the window and gazed up at his father's star, shining brightly in the sky. With it, he was supposed to never feel alone, but he barely remembered his father. There were nights when seeing that star shine bright made him feel more alone than anyone else on Arda.

A wistful head shake brought him back to the present. When the time came, he would sail to Aman. There he would reconnect with his beautiful wife and, apparently, meet his grandparents. He had much to look forward to. He returned to his letter with a lighter heart.

Idril explained how when their boat finally washed up on shore, they had both been quite ill. No food or water for months would do that. They were taken to healing halls and slept for days. When they awoke, Manwë and Mandos stood before them.

_It was intimidating. For long moments the two Valar just stared at us. When they finally spoke, it was with exasperation, and I like to think, awe. They told us that no one before had ever tried to bring someone not of the elven race to Aman. I told them I would not leave my husband, not even to death. Mandos told me that I may not have a choice, as Tuor was quite old at this point. I said I was willing to do anything._

_“Anything?” Manwë had asked, intrigued._

_They then proceeded to tell me of a spell, a complicated bit of magic that would have been introduced to Arda through Beren and Lúthien, but circumstances prevented it. In order to stay together, we needed a list of ingredients, that I have included on the next page. We also needed a strong spell caster, luckily we had two Valar waiting to assist. The last thing we needed was our sacrifices._

_I was told after the fact that the spell determines if your sacrifice is good enough. If it is not, the spell will either crumble, or take something else. I do not know if it can be tried more than once. Be sure to tell your friends that they must think big._

_Our sacrifices were steep, for Tuor it was leaving Arda and for myself, well. I did not know at the time that I would sacrifice my family. We have lost Eärendil. We lost Elwing, whom we loved as a daughter, we lost your childhood, we lost your brother. I pray we shall see your children._

_Know this, we look forward to seeing you, my dear grandson. Your wife misses you greatly._

Lowering the letter towards the desk, Elrond thought over everything it said. Ignoring the details about his family, as difficult as that was for him, he focused on what the letter said about the magic and the specific spell needed. It would not be easy, but that was as Elrond, Radagast, and Iarwain thought. He carefully put the letter in his desk drawer and turned to the other papers. One a the list of ingredients almost identical to the list he had created. The only difference being that the knotted bits of string from Harad were of no use. 

The third page contained the spell that was needed, word for word. It also included several translations, as the Sage that Radagast had spoken to had recommended. 

He sat, staring. There before him was everything they needed. He had all the ingredients, he had the spell. All he needed was a spell caster, Thranduil, and Bard. 

Before he could stop himself, he pulled out parchment and ink. He scribbled out a coded letter for Thranduil and Radagast. Summer was fading and he would not be able to leave Imladris until the snow began to melt, but he swore he would be at the Old Forest Road no later than the first day of spring. Once the letters were written, he went in search of a messenger and sent them off with much speed.

That night, he dreamt of meeting his family and the joy it would bring him.

* * *

As soon as the snow cleared in the new year, Elrond left Imladris. He went without a guard, much to Glorfindel's despair, and he took no companions. He was on a mission to collect Radagast and get to Greenwood the Great. Anyone, and anything else would distract him.

He had packed lightly, taking enough clothes to last him a few days, meager food supplies, mostly lembas and miruvor, and all the spell components he had assembled. 

He and his horse road swiftly, skirting around Lórien and heading towards Rhosgobel. Fortunately, Radagast was waiting and ready, his rabbits already connected to his sled. They continued their journey north. 

This time, they did not have to wait for an escort. Tauriel was pacing just outside the entryway, clearly having been there for some time.

“Have you been waiting long?” Elrond asked in place of a greeting.

She spun to glare at them both. “The king was anxious that you be brought to him immediately. Someone has been on watch here for the past two weeks. I trust the news is good?”

“It is news for the king,” Elrond agreed. “Haste is key though, so if you would?”

Tauriel nodded and led the two travelers towards the Greenwood fortress.

They were settled into their rooms, different ones than they had stayed in previously, and the servants left them with an invitation to dine privately with the king.

* * *

Dinner was a small, quiet affair in the king's chambers. Elrond was slightly disappointed that Bard was not present.

“He shall be here tomorrow,” Thranduil explained after being asked. “Once I received your letter I sent word to the Master that I wanted to renegotiate some terms with the bargeman. He graciously agreed that Bard attend to my meetings for a week.”

“Bard's children?” Radagast asked.

“With their mother's family.” the king smiled ruefully. “They desperately want to visit, but it's not wise. Not yet.”

Elrond nodded in agreement. “Is now a good time to hear what we need to do?”

The elven king paused in thought, before declining. “I think Bard will be angry enough at me for even trying. To learn that I already know what we must do? No, better that we learn that part together.”

They enjoyed the rest of their dinner, discussing lighthearted topics. All were determined that their time in Greenwood would be peaceful.

The following morning saw Elrond and Radagast setting up their findings, resources, notes, and various artifacts and equipment in Thranduil's study. They had been reassured that the room was impenetrable, a matter that greatly concerned them given some of the information they had uncovered.

It wasn't until almost noon that Bard arrived, though he and Thranduil sequestered themselves for a meal alone.

When they finally met, Elrond admitted privately that he was somewhat disappointed. The men of Esgaroth were slightly smaller, more compact than the Dúnedain and Gondorians he was more familiar with. Though he was polite, he did not smile, even if the crinkles around his eyes and mouth spoke of good humor.

He was also slightly cowed at meeting an elven lord and one of the Istari.

“I admit,” he said, a slight grin pulling at his lips, “that I thought wizards were a fairy tale.”

“Oh no,” Radagast laughed. “We are quite real. There are several of us, though very few with a lot of power. The two above me are the most powerful in all of Middle Earth.”

Bard appeared nonplussed at this news, clearly torn at the idea of such powerful folk wandering around doing Valar knew what.

Thranduil took Bard's hand after several moments of small talk. “Meleth, you will probably be angry with me.”

A wary glance was cast towards Elrond and Radagast, both of whom avoided making eye contact. “Why?”

“I asked Elrond, Radagast, and a man named Iarwain Pen-Adar – you may know him as Tom Bombadil – to help me fix a little problem we seem to have.”

“I wasn't aware that we were having any problems.” Worry could be heard in his voice, his eyes remained upon his lover's.

Thranduil swallowed. “The problem of you being human,” he whispered hoarsely.

Bard's face softened in understanding. “We've talked about that, love.” He said. “I thought we agreed that you must find something else to live for, I couldn't bear knowing that I caused your death.”

“We did,” Thranduil agreed, keeping his eyes on the human. “It was something Legolas said that made me think there could be an alternative.”

“You had to bring in reinforcements for that?”

“I brought in some of the wisest, most trustworthy people I know. Almost three years ago they first came to help me.”

“Now they are back,” Bard leaned back in his seat, looking towards the other two occupants. “I take that to mean they have an answer?”

“So they say,” confirmed the king “I do not know what it is yet.”

Bard was quiet for several minutes before speaking. “I had assumed we had dealt with the issue. What changed?”

“Because there may be a way for you to always be with me.”

The man stilled, turning towards his elf. “Always be with you?”

“Yes, it's complicated and it might be better if Elrond explains.” the king trailed off, gesturing towards the Imladris elf.

“Ah, my turn is it?” Elrond rose up from his seat, slightly nervous about what he was to reveal. “The story is rather long, Master Bard. I hope you don't mind terribly if I skip some parts to get to the key points.”

Bard nodded. “We can fill in the details later.”

“Very well. Thranduil asked us to look into the possibility of bonding the two of you together. Giving you the lifespan of an elf.”

“That's succinct. Why did you think of it?” he asked his lover.

“I forget sometimes, how little of our history you know. There have been stories of elves bonding with humans, one gave up her eternity and died shortly after her husband. The other sailed to Aman with her lover. We do not know what happened to them.”

“Ah, but we do.” Elrond disagreed. “Though I will get to that shortly. It was rightfully pointed out that the choice of Lúthien, to die with Beren, was only available because both of them had died previously.”

“I don't follow.” confessed Bard.

“They were killed. While in Mandos' Halls, Lúthien appealed to Mandos. He agreed to return them to Arda, but in order to do that, they would have to die again. They were living on borrowed time. Together they had many years and gave birth to my grandfather.” He walked over to the table containing his notes. “We spent several months here researching the libraries, at the time the only conclusions we could come to was that it would be possible, that it would be difficult, and there would be a price to pay.”

“We took our leave of the Greenwood.” Radagast added. “Each of us going our own way. Elrond to the libraries of Lórien and Imladris, Iarwain back to his home, and myself I went south and east. We searched and asked everywhere and everyone we could. We all came to the same conclusions.” he pinned Bard with his look. “It is possible to bind two people together. All the stories said it could be done, they each offered different ingredients, spells, rituals, whathaveyou. They also all confirmed that a sacrifice must be made.”

“Like, money?” Bard asked.

“No,” the Istar looked offended at the thought. “A personal sacrifice.”

Thranduil started slightly, “Such as?”

The Istar settled back in thought. “Something that is precious to you, that under normal situations you would never give up.”

The lovers both looked concerned, so Elrond hastened to explain. “Do not focus on that now. What we know thanks in no small part to a letter from my other grandparents, Tuor and Idril. They were the other elven/human couple, the ones who sailed West.” Elrond informed Bard. “They sent me a letter by eagle that further explained what we must do.” He picked up the letter and a page of his notes. “You will have to make a personal sacrifice, but you do not have to discuss it now. In fact, I think it would be better if you don't. Today, we'll just go over what we need to do.”

Elrond went on to explain how they would first have to do a small ritual during a solstice, one in which they would write out in runes confirming their devotion to each other and to the spell itself. They would write with the feather of a Great Eagle, one that had been given willingly. The ink would be made with ground oliphaunt tusk. 

For the second part of the ritual, their blood would be mixed with the liquified light of the Star of Eärendil. It had to be done on the night of a new moon, as close to a solstice as they could reasonably get. The concoction would be stored in a dark, cool place until it was needed.

On the third solstice, they would exchange a physical representation of their love. Jewelry would be best, something metal that could last over time. Whatever they choose, they would need to design one for the other, though they could have another create the actual item. 

The fourth and last solstice would have a far more ritualistic and ceremonial feel. The four of them would have to perform a specific ritual, burning the blood concoction, the written affirmations, and the jewelry. They would then need to recite a prayer to the Valar. When the prayer was over and the jewelry cooled, they would announce their sacrifices. Only then could they exchange the jewelry. Once they had, the magic would take hold and they would be bound.

“There is far more detail to all this than I have explained so far.” Elrond continued. “But I hope for now, it is sufficient.”

“A whole year?” Bard asked. 

“What's a year when you get eternity?” Thranduil asked him quietly.

“You're right, of course.” Bard smiled. “I’m still a little worried about the parts you haven't told us. I suppose that could wait until tomorrow. It'll all be bad news, wont it?

“Not bad news. Necessarily.” hedged the elven-lord. “Just perhaps unexpected.”

“Or unwanted.” added Radagast.

“Yes, or that.” Elrond glared at the Istari.

The king stood, pulling Bard with him. “That is enough for tonight. It is a lot of information to process, something so seemingly simple. However, I imagine the parts you have eluded to will more than make up for your over simplification now. It is almost time for supper, I suggest we leave off for now and reconvene after noon meal tomorrow.”

It was agreed and they all took the rest of the evening for themselves.

* * *

“You really want me forever?” Bard asked Thranduil later that night.

“Of course I do, you doubt it?”

“No, of course not. But... well. Yes.”

“Yes or no, meleth?” Thranduil quietly requested clarification.

Bard sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the expensive duvet. “I've never doubted that you love me. You are not terribly expressive, but once someone gets to know you, well. There are little tics that give away your thoughts.”

“It pleases me that you know me so well.” he said, taking Bard's hand in his own.

“We've only had a few short years. You told me courting your wife took almost a thousand years. How can you decide we are a good match?”

“My situation with Aerin was vastly different. I loved her, very much. But we also had to be well suited to produce children. She had to be sure she wanted to rule as Queen.”

“You won't make me your queen?” Bard pouted.

“If you truly want, you may look stunning in a gown. But that isn't the point.” he paused carefully. “We've known for some time that soon, in a century or more, things will change. More elves will begin to feel the pull to go West. Once that happens, I will be king no more. My choice in partner will not matter. I don't think it matters now, all that have met you have been impressed. I think they have been more pleased with my slightly improved temper.”

“King Grumpy.” smiled Bard.

“Hm. The point is that while I chose Aerin and loved her dearly, she was also a practical choice from a leadership stand point. You will probably never receive a title from myself or my subjects so the excessive time isn't needed.” Thranduil raised Bard's hand to his lips, kissing it softly. “Also, you have never once tried to hide who you are from me.”

“Aerin did?”

“She did what she thought I wanted. We had quite a fight about it. There were knives.” he waved a hand flippantly. “We worked it out. I would have remained with her forever, happily so. Fate chose a different route for me. If I could choose who to be with now, it would be you. It is easy to love you and be myself. Do not doubt that.”

“It's weird to think of living forever.” Bard admitted quietly. “I knew my children would outlive me, it's part of being human. Accepting our own deaths, that is...” Bard trailed off a lost look on his face.

“Bard? What is it?”

“I think... I think I know what the sacrifice thing is about.”

“What?”

He shook his head. “I can't tell you now. I want them to confirm it. I could be wrong.”

* * *

They met after noon meal the next day, arranged around the study in an almost exact replica of the previous day.

Thranduil had decided earlier that beating around the bush was pointless. “Tell us,” he ordered almost immediately. “Everything else.”

Neither Elrond or Radagast were surprised at the demand. 

“We should start with a warning.” Elrond said seriously. “If at any point a solstice is missed, you must start over. 'twould be better to keep an accurate accounting of days the first year rather than hope for luck.”

The lovers nodded. “What happens when the rituals are complete?” Bard asked tentatively. 

“You will age, and you will eventually die.”

“That's not what I asked you to look for.” The king growled.

“It is what we found.” the elven lord stated baldly. “For the magics to work, Bard must live out his life. When he dies, he will sleep. I cannot tell you for how long. It could be months, it could be centuries. When he wakes, he will look and feel as he will be when the rituals are complete. Only then will you have eternity.”

“The sacrifices? When will they occur?” Bard's voice wobbled.

“They will take place shortly after your death.” Radagast said, as gently as he could.

“What must they be?”

“Something more precious to you than anything else.” the Istari replied.

Bard nodded, his eyes closed tightly. “I have to... I have.” He gestured to the door, then left.

“Thranduil?” Elrond asked in confusion.

The king bowed his head. “His most precious items are his children.” he took a breath. “Will they have to die?”

“Yes, but not how you think.”

“Then tell me how to think,” demanded the king.

It was Radagast who answered. “They will have to live out their lives. This magic has a cruel edge, granting a mortal immortality. Yet it takes away that which would bring them comfort. That is not to say he loves you less, just that he must make a choice.”

“Do you think he will refuse you?” Elrond inquired.

“I do not know. I am glad though, that you did not tell me anything before hand. I would not have even brought him to meet you if I had known.”

“And you, my friend?” Radagast pushed. “What is your most precious thing?”

Thranduil stared at a wall blankly. “I do not know. Let us adjourn for the day.” he rose and left the room quickly.

“Yesterday went better than expected.” Elrond confided. “Though I fear today went far worse.”

“Thranduil knew what we were looking for would be difficult.”

“Aye, he did. Doesn't mean it won't hurt.”

* * *

Bard left the study with his fear reverberating in his skull. He would lose his children. Privacy was what he needed, and while he and Thranduil were close, he spent little time in the elf's home. He wandered aimlessly until coming upon a balcony. It was just what he needed. Far from the busy parts of the fortress, he could feel the wind on his face.

There were no seats, so he settled on the ground, propped up against a large stone planter.

What would he do? His children would die so he could have eternity with his lover? How selfish could he be?

He sat, wallowing in his own misery for an unknown amount of time. A blanket settling on his shoulders startled him.

“Thranduil?” he guessed.

“Yes, meleth.” Thranduil settled on the floor next to him. “I know you want to be alone, but you left before Elrond could explain more.”

“What else could he explain? I'll lose my children.”

“They will not die within hours of you.”

“They will still die!” Bard breathed out harshly.

“They will. They will live out their lives and die when their times come. You will only awaken long after the last has left this land.”

Bard leaned against the elf. “I still lose them.”

“Yes.”

“I know you mean well,” Bard mumbled into the king's neck. “But I really do want to be alone.”

“Just stay warm, meleth. And,” Thranduil paused uncertainly. “I will love you no matter what you choose.” A quick kiss and Bard was alone again.

He stared at his hands, thinking hard.

An eternity with Thranduil would mean a mortal's life with his children.

It was a constant worry for him, what his children would do if something happened to him. He had some contingency plans set up. They could stay with Brita's family. Even his friend Percy had agreed to take them in if need be. He had no way to help further provide for them though. Every bit of coin he earned was spent almost as soon as he touched it.

He tried to think. Picturing Sigrid on her wedding day. She'd probably marry Tralon, her best friend since before she could walk. He was a decent enough boy. Bard had no reason to oppose the match, as long as Tralon remembered that Sigrid deserved to be treated as a queen.

He had a hard time picturing Bain married. His son still thought girls were gross and avoided all but his sisters. Someday, maybe. He could see the boy following in his footsteps, doing odd jobs around Lake-town. Maybe he would even take the positions of bargeman for the elven barrels. The Valar knew the parties wouldn't stop just because one mortal died.

Tiny Tilda. She was so vibrant and full of smiles. She could do or be anything she wanted, simply because she would knock over anyone who told her otherwise. He sincerely hoped that nothing would ever damper her enthusiasm.

So much of their lives he would miss. But then Brita had passed and life went on. His own father had died when he was a child. His mother gone not long after he married. As much as he would like to promise his children that he would always be there for them, the reality of their lives said otherwise. He would pass long before them, leaving them to fend for themselves. In a place like Lake-town, as a human, the expectation that one would die long before their children was high.

It had always been likely that he would miss out on those achievements. Marriages, grandchildren, all those things that mattered.

If Thranduil was right, and he would just sleep until they were gone, was he really missing anything? A voice in the back of his head asked if it wasn't time that he did something selfish.

An answering thought rose up. How could he live with himself, for an eternity, knowing his children were dead?

He sat on the balcony until he fell asleep. He didn't wake until morning, when he found himself tucked into Thranduil's bed.

* * *

Bard awoke alone. It felt weird, seeing as he had never visited the elven kingdom before. But the bed and its linens were sinfully comfortable. Since he had nothing to do until after noon-meal, he snuggled back under the covers and let himself doze.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he felt a weight settle on the bed. Burrowing out from under his blanket nest took a while, but he eventually found Thranduil staring at him fondly.

“Comfortable, meleth?”

“Indeed I am. I'm sorry about yesterday.”

The king shook his head. “Do not apologize for that. I would be just as upset as you. Now, get up, get dressed. We have a couple hours until noon meal and I would share something with you first.”

With great reluctance, Bard pulled himself out of bed and prepared for the day. When he exited the immense room that Thranduil called a bathroom, he found his lover seated at a table with a small array of snacks laid out.

“You slept through breakfast. I thought you might like something to tide you over.”

“You're too good to me.”

Thranduil just smiled in response and watched as Bard ate from a small selection of dishes.

When he was done, he pulled Thranduil over to a comfortable sofa. “What did you want to tell me?”

If...” the elf hesitated. “If you decide to commit to this spell, we both know what you will sacrifice. I feel that you need to go into this knowing what I will sacrifice.”

“You don't-”

“I do. You will give up much for me, it would be an insult to what we have if I do not give up as much. Though I feel it may sound convoluted.”

Bard frowned, but waited patiently.

“You know all elves are connected to nature. We hear the trees, can sense the animals. If we're strong enough, we can communicate with various beasts.”

The man nodded, having seen this when the elf calmed a spooked deer in the woods.

“As king, I have a much deeper connection. It's tied into the magic ability I have. I'm no where near as strong as an Istar, or even Lady Galadriel in Lórien.” He hastened to explain. “But I'm strong enough that I can feel every inch of Greenwood.” he closed his eyes. “I can feel the winds blowing up north, feel the flutter of butterfly wings to the west. I feel the crawling of the spiders as they spread. I can feel the hatred and evil in Dol Guldur.” he opened his eyes and met Bard's gaze.

“It,” Bard wet his lips. “It sounds wonderful and terrible.”

“It can be. Especially as evil grows.”

“Does it just come, or do you have to work at it?”

“When I first became king, much of it would just overwhelm me. I have since learned to control it. I can focus my senses to particular areas to see if patrols are necessary.”

“You will give this up for me?”

“In a heartbeat. However, there is a side effect that you must be aware of.”

“A side effect? Will you wither if you can't feel the forest?”

“Nay, I shall be just as strong. Luckily, I have several elves who are more than capable of giving me reports of the state of my woods.”

“Then what is it?”

“A long time ago,” Thranduil's gaze moved to the far wall, “I went to war against dragons. Many lost their lives.”

“But not you.”

“No, not me. I did not return whole, however.”

“You were injured?” Bard sat up sharply, pulling Thranduil's face towards him and studying him carefully. “I have seen you bare, there are no scars. Nothing.”

The king smirked slightly. “Magic.”

“Magic.” echoed the man. “Magic that hides your injuries?”

“Aye. I thought last night that perhaps you should see what you will have to live with once the spell is completed. You may change your mind.”

“Because of how you look?” outraged, Bard stood to glare down at the elf. “I love you, you idiot. Not how you look.”

Thranduil smiled slightly. “I wish you to see first.”

“How extensive?”

“Most of my left side, from my head down towards my hip with a few straggling lines down my leg.”

A deep breath from Bard. “Alright. Show me.”

A nod from the king and slowly, the glamor he used faded away. The scars were not what Bard had expected. Thick bits of skin that couldn't heal right, he'd seen that on people who had gotten stuck on their fishing lines. Thranduil's scars looked just as fresh as the wounds he must have gotten centuries, if not millennia ago. The skin was gone, he could see the tendons that attached to his jaw. He was reasonably sure he saw bits of bone. He wanted to look away, but he forced himself to look. When he flicked his eyes up to meet his lovers, he noticed the left was completely white.

“Can you see?”

A head shake. “Not out of the left.”

“You’ve adapted well. Do they still hurt?”

The king blinked at the question. “There is an ache. The magic helps to diffuse it. When I lower the glamor it comes back.”

Tentatively, Bard cupped his lover's face. “You will give up your connection to your forest, show your scarred face to the world, and be in pain for all of eternity. Just for me?”

“Your presence in my life is more than worth it.”

Bard swallowed audibly. “I'm afraid to hurt you further.”

“You never could.”

Carefully, Bard leaned forward, kissing the elf's mouth softly, then with more passion. 

They did not make it to noon-meal

* * *

When they were finally presentably, they met Elrond and Radagast in the king's study. Both were kind enough not to say anything, but it was clear by their amused expressions they knew exactly what the two had been doing all morning

“About time you joined us,” Radagast said sharply. “I've had word that I need to leave soon, darkness spread in Fangorn and Treebeard wants my opinion.”

“Of course,” the king inclined his head. “I appreciate how busy you are and how this is not your priority.”

Bard settled carefully onto the sofa he and Thranduil shared the previous day. “Thranduil tells me there is more to all this than just rituals and sacrifices. Let's leave aside the issue of sacrifices and discuss what else needs to happen.”

“Very well.” Elrond looked at his notes to be sure he explained everything. “Once the rituals are complete, you will live out your mortal life. You will age naturally, and whether it is from wounds, sickness, or old age, you will die.”

“Will I really be dead?”

The elven lord hummed thoughtfully, but it was Radagast who answered. “More like a deep sleep or a coma. Similar to being injected by the venom of a spider. You will appear dead, no heartbeat, no breath. This, from what we can ascertain, will last for about a month. Which should be more than enough time for you to be buried.”

Bard nodded. “Guess I'll have to make some adjustments to my funeral plans. In Lake-town, the dead are burned.” he explained.

“Ghastly.” Elrond muttered. “If you are burnt, all of this will be for naught. There must be a body for the spell to work.”

“Yes, m'lord.” Bard replied, grinning. He stilled suddenly, and tilted his head. “Why would I need to be buried? Won't people know?”

“Ah. Did we forget to mention that part?” Elrond squinted at his notes. “I believe we did. It is imperative that as few people as possible know of the spell and your attempt. We are currently at five, including Iarwain. You could possibly tell one or two others, but I would refrain from telling family.”

Bard nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds like a good idea. Alright, I am presumed dead and buried. What then?”

“Once the month, which is only approximate, we do not know for sure, is over, you will transition from this deep paralyzed sleep to a regular sleep. You will need special herbs to be burned to cleanse the air. This treatment will continue until well after the last of your children pass.”

“Alright, so my sacrifice would be to lose my children, and that will happen when I'm asleep. When would Thranduil's begin?”

“At the moment of your death, or shortly thereafter.”

“Forever.” It was not a question.

“Yes.”

Bard sighed and gazed down at his hands, thinking hard. “Could you make exceptions?”

“How so?”

“If we decide to do this,” Bard kept his eyes on Elrond. “We both already know what we will be giving up. My children will age and die, and I won't see that. As a human, we don't really expect to. Outliving your children is something most of us fear.” he shrugged slightly. “Thranduil will give up something that has become just as much a part of him. I would request that a small portion be kept.”

“Explain.” Elrond demanded, looking at the king.

“I will give up my magic, my connection to the forest.”

Elrond blinked, he knew this would be difficult, having used a ring of power for years to help him watch over his own lands. “Will this affect your ability to rule?”

“I doubt it.” Thranduil sneered. “I will still have people who are connected to the forest who can advise me. I will just have to rely on them more.”

“Tell them the rest,” Bard urged, when it looked as if the king would not continue.

A glare was his answer, but the king did continue. “With the loss of my magic, I will not be able to maintain my glamors.”

“The scars.” Elrond closed his eyes. “I had forgotten.”

“I rather hoped everyone had.”

“You would have the glamors remain?”

“The pain management is more important. The glamors would be extra.” Bard confirmed.

“You did not say you were still in pain,” Elrond chastised.

“Nothing can be done for that. It lingers, the magic helps. I will gladly lose that if I can have Bard.”

“Hm. What think you, Radagast?” the elven lord turned to the Istari.

The wizard clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “Perhaps if it's in the wording of the written intent we could put that part of Thranduil's magic in Bard.”

“Yes, I see. Making Bard his lodestone. The focus of what magic he has left. It will bind them together even more.”

“We will have to experiment. It can only be enough magic to sustain the glamors and suppress the pain.” Radagast turned to Bard. “You must be honest, is it to keep your lover beautiful to look at?”

“How dare you,” Bard hissed. “You know next to nothing about our relationship-”

“Bard, calm down.” Thranduil pulled on his arm. “For once, I doubt he means any harm.”

“Indeed, I do not.” Radagast agreed. “If it was purely about vanity, I would not agree to it. I can see by your response that it is not. Can you tell us why?”

A sharp glare was all in got in response for several minutes. “I will not deny that I enjoy his face. It is nicely symmetrical and not that hideous.”

“Love you too.” Thranduil grumped.

“But it is more that it is part of who he is. I am worried that having visible gaping wounds may cause him issues leading his people or dealing with dignitaries. As a king, he has a certain image to maintain. I mostly don't want him in any undue pain.”

The Istar nodded. “Fair reasons. Now to tie the magic to him. Perhaps in the jewelry?” he turned to Elrond.

“That is a good idea, and leads us to what we didn't mention yesterday. The jewelry must be on you at all times.”

“Must we wear them in plain sight?”

“I don't believe so, why do you ask?”

“The Master is quite observant, if I start wearing jewelry he will either want to know where it comes from, or tax me until he has it. Probably both. It would be better for me if f I could wear it on a leather thong. No matter what the jewelry turns out to be, being able to hide it will save me a lot of trouble.”

Elrond consulted his notes. “Yes, I believe they just have to be on you at all times, how exactly you wear it is up to you.” He looked up. “What is your decision?”

“We will do it.” Thranduil answered for them both.

“Excellent. We have about a month until the first solstice. If Radagast can spare another day or two, we can begin working on the written intentions. Once they are carefully worded, you two will be on your own to carry out most of the rituals. We will return in time for the fourth solstice. I will leave all my notes here until then.” He hesitated. “I feel that while this knowledge is helpful, we should destroy all of it once you are done.”

“We cannot leave clues?” Bard asked, hoping to save future couples from painful separations.

“Clues yes, but no more. Let those who wish to carry out the spell work for it.”

* * *

**2943-3000**

Life after the Battle of the Five Armies was hard. None of the three realms had much food to spare. The elves gave what they could and Thranduil sent requests for more to Elrond in Imladris. Elrond passed the word onto the elves in Lórien, the dwarves in the Blue Mountains, and even down south to Gondor and Rohan. Cleverly worded missives made it sound like the survival of the entire area was dependent on the donations of the larger populations of the races.

For the winter, the dwarves of the Iron Hills and the Men of Lake-town hunkered down in Dale, they shored up broken walls and did what they needed to just get by The elves donated blankets and fuel for fires. It was a very lean winter, but the people managed to keep warm with the hope that soon their luck would change. The few farmers that Lake-town had worked with the Elves to map out the best ways to plant crops in the spring. Thranduil still charged for the seeds and equipment, but as he told his lover, letting the Men of Dale become dependent on the Greenwood would do no one any favors.

Bard reluctantly agreed.

He was reluctant about a great many things, particularly being king of the newly resettled city. As he liked to frequently complain to Thranduil, he was a bargeman, a bowman, a single parent. He knew nothing of caring for the masses. Half the time he didn’t have enough for his family, now he had to support hundreds more?

Thranduil's response was to get him drunk and let him rant. Once the hangover was done, Bard was usually in a better mood and could carry out his duties as his people needed him to.

* * *

Tilda spent much of her time hounding unsuspecting visitors to tell them stories of their culture and their adventures. It was widely rumored in Erebor that Tilda was the sole reason that Bilbo left so quickly. No one ever whispered a word of it in Dale though, Tilda would have been heartbroken to hear she had chased away her new friend.

It had all started simply enough, stories told at the campfires after the battle turned into stories told at sickbeds. She quickly built up a whole repertoire of lore that included tales from multiple races on Arda. The stories born in her a wanderlust. She desperately wanted to see the places in those adventures.

She could not leave though, not yet. Her da still needed her, he wasn't quite up to ruling his new kingdom, even with ada Thranduil's help. Together, the children of Bard, newly minted prince and princesses, learned their duties as nobility. They took up reading and rhetoric, learned their sums, and passed their father in all manner of scholarly pursuits. Tilda worried that her father would be angry with his children surpassing him. On the contrary, he was absolutely delighted that they would have opportunities that he had been denied.

All three helped keep Dale prosperous. When Bain married, there was an easing of tensions that Tilda hadn't even known was there. When Sigrid married, people were delighted that their charming princess healer was happy. Especially when she and her husband had many healthy babies. But Tilda did not want marriage. She did not want to settle down. She wanted to travel.

She had talked to Ada Thranduil, and a little with King Dain and Legolas about what was needed in order to travel. All three insisted that she learn how to defend herself. That was how she found herself on a practice field one day, before the sun was up. Tauriel joined her, ready to teach her how to wield wickedly sharp knives. She learned how to conceal herself in crowded places, made it look as if she was of little to no interest to anyone on her way.

After several years of practice, Ada Thranduil joined her in appealing to her father. She was ready to travel.

Bard was unhappy about it. He wanted all of his children to stay where he could see them and make sure they were happy. Tilda insisted. Thranduil supported her. Her Ada was pivotal in convincing her overprotective father to allow he to travel beyond Long Lake. Eventually they settled on a compromise.

She could travel with an elven guard about her at all times. Her argument against this was that such a guard would bring more unwanted attention to herself. Bard had simply raised an eyebrow and demanded to know when she had last spotted an elf who had not wanted to be seen.

Reluctantly she agreed. A year with a baby sitter wouldn't be that bad. Not if she could prove her abilities.

The year was a long, hard one. It was lonely at first. The guard that Thranduil had assigned her was diligent in keeping his distance, only checking in with her on empty stretches of road so he could confirm their destination. It was near the end of the time that she realized how much she enjoyed being on her own, answering to no one but herself.

When the year was up, she returned home, her guard at her side.

Dale was so different! She hadn't expected that. Many of the damaged buildings that had been ignored for so long were repaired. Brilliantly colored banners fluttered in the wind. In the distance she could see the beginnings of Lake-town being rebuilt on the lake.

It was coming home. It was arriving at a stranger's house.

Her family was delighted to see her and hear about her adventures. She told them about trading her storytelling skills for a night in an inn, joining a small traveling entertainment troupe that was leaving Harad and making quite a bit of coin with them. She told them of the creatures she had seen, oliphaunts bigger than a building, the herd of Mearas horses she watched galloping across the fields of Rohan. The ocean and the smell of salt in the air, so different from the smell the lake gave off.

Once her stories were over, they told her of the happenings in Dale. Sigrid had another baby. Bain had mastered using a dwarven battle-axe. Bard had been bucked off a horse and had broken his leg. 

Beyond the minor changes in her family, they were much the same. The people of Dale were wary of her though. As if from traveling abroad she would bring them ruin. She ignored it, much as she had in other towns with similar opinions. She told her stories and entertained the children. She was invited to Erebor for several nights to share her talents there. She even spent a week in Greenwood.

After several months, she found herself restless. She was itching to leave again. Dale would always be home, mostly because her family was there, not because she felt any particular connection to the town.

Tilda went to her father and they debated and argued and talked and cried for hours. He finally agreed to let her travel on her own. Only if she took with her a thrush, one who would carry messages between the family. She should be aware of all the happenings of Dale and they should know everything of her.

Bard was quick to remind her that she was always welcome home, and as long as he had power, the room on the left of the stairs would be hers.

Her departure was bittersweet. She knew she would be back, but this time she found the road to be less lonely and more freeing. Especially since now she was truly on her own, the guard returned to his duties in the Greenwood.

Tilda would return to Dale frequently. She was present to welcome every new child that Sigrid had – seven in total! She was there for all the anniversaries – the celebration for Smaug's defeat was particularly exciting, with the fireworks and dancing.

The only time she returned for a long stretch of time was when her thrush, whom she called Marta, came to tell her that Bard had fallen sick. Tilda had rushed home from Bree, terrified that she would miss out on those last few, precious moments with her father.

She and her siblings were all there at the end. With them were Thranduil and King Dain. When her da breathed his last, it seemed that the elven king wilted and the dwarf-king had to hold him up. 

Sigrid and Bain had begun working on the funeral preparations before Tilda made it home. They would tell her later that Bard had made it clear what he wanted and how to work in what was expected of the funeral of the first king of Dale. There was to be a procession and dirges, as well as the remaining kings speaking of Bard. Some of his friends would speak as well. Instead of speaking, the family would retreat to grieve in private. Within the week, Bain would be crowned king.

They just had to get through the burial.

Tilda stared at the stone mausoleum the dwarves had constructed. It was far different than funerals had been conducted in Lake-town, though she had seen similar things in her travels. She remembered when her da first told her about it, that it would be big enough to house their family for generations. At one time, she had thought it would be nice to spend eternity with her loved ones. Now, it just looked like cold, lonely stone.

The funeral would be one of the few stories she would not repeat to others. It was too private.

After Bain was crowned king, Dain and some of his guards escorted Thranduil back to Greenwood. Odd, but the kings had to work out their new triad on their own. It had been a rocky start, but Thranduil, Dain, and Bard worked well together. 

Tilda stayed for several months to help Bain and Sigrid settle into their new roles. It was only after she left that she realized the Elf king had yet to return, while Dain had been a frequent visitor. 

She would return to Dale three times. Once for each of her siblings funerals, then finally, when she knew her own time was near. She never stepped into the family mausoleum alive.

* * *

Bain outgrew his father, much to Bard's chagrin. He was at least a head taller than the first king of Dale, bulkier as well. He handled a sword better and was a better horseman. These achievements Bard did not hold against him. Lake-town had not been the best place to learn how to ride a horse or swing a sword. It hadn't always been safe to travel to land to learn those skills. In Dale, Bain thrived. He soaked up lessons on leadership from Thranduil and Dain. When Dis joined them from the Blue Mountains, she taught him what she could of leadership from her father and how Thorin had led them in exile.

Bain became the leader that Bard always felt he had failed at becoming.

By the time Bain was sixteen, he was a member of his father's council. Able to help and offer opinions on much of Dale's trade and defenses.

Bard privately thought that Bain was much better suited to kingship than he was. Deep down, Bard still thought of himself as a simple bargeman who had no bigger concerns than providing food for his immediate family. Bain took to helping out the rest of the town so easily.

Privately Bard told Thranduil that he was occasionally jealous of his own son. The ease of leadership he had, while Bard still looked over his shoulder anytime someone call him 'my king.'

He was assured that the feeling would pass, though he had his doubts.

Bain began to court a lovely young woman named Narina when he was nineteen. She and her family were newcomers to Dale, traveling from northern Gondor hoping to find a better life in the restored town. Her family was quite successful, weavers who could and did create stunning patterns in their cloth.

They married before the winter snows came, on the shores of Long Lake with representatives from the elves and dwarves in attendance. That was the same year that Sigrid gave birth to her second son.

Bain and Narina soon moved out of the king's house into a nearby home that had just been completed. The dwarves were particularly proud of the stonework that they had been able to reproduce, matching the remains of Old Dale. This building would become known as the Prince's Place, as the heir to the throne would reside there until they inherited.

Bard adored his daughter in law, she was the complete opposite of his own children, quiet, polite, willing to listen. She had an objection to dirt though, which occasionally rankled. The people of Dale were hearty and all were willing to help their neighbors, even if it meant coming home covered in a fine layer of ash.

They were married for two years before they announced Narina's pregnancy.

Thranduil sent his best healers to help her during the long months, much as he had done for Sigrid, and planned to do for Tilda.

The pregnancy was hard for Narina. She was often nauseous and the smell of fish was particularly abhorrent to her. Her delivery was long and tedious. They had been spoiled with Sigrid's easy and quick labors, none lasting more than a couple hours. Narina's lasted for almost a day and a half. Bain, Bard, and her parents paced the lounge of the Prince's Place.

Finally, they heard the cry of a newborn. Bain almost trampled his in laws trying to get in to see his wife. Bard just laughed, telling the couple that he had done the same thing with Brita.

The prince's family introduce their son, Girard, to the city a week later. He was small, but healthy. Narina was told to avoid future pregnancies, as they may not be as lucky.

They had worried at first, preventing pregnancy was not something the people of Dale were particularly good at. But the elves and the dwarves had methods that could be adapted to suit human physiology.

As Girard grew older, Bain took on more responsibility within the city. Trying to ease the pressure on his father, he took over many of the tasks that Bard didn't much care for. Bard felt bad about it, but figured that Bain would rule longer than Bard, better that he get the experience before he was crowned.

When Girard was five years old, a fever swept through the city. It ravaged not only the humans, but the dwarves as well. The dwarves were hardier and were only ill for a short period of time. Of the humans who caught the fever, most did not survive.

The sickness spread to Narina and Girard. Girard was too young and had no protections against it, it claimed his life quickly. Narina lingered, caught in the fever and her grief. By the time spring was over, she too had passed.

Bain was heartbroken. The people of Dale did what they could to support him, all knowing something of grief, either from the recent bout of fever or the memories of Smaug. 

Bain threw himself into his work. He was constantly in meetings and working on improving the city and surrounding area. Many thought him to be like a man possessed. They let him handle his grief in his own way, however. The only time anyone got involved was when he had been on a hunting trip that had been attacked by spiders. Instead of allowing his guards to deal with the nuisances, he had gone himself. Bard was too angry to deal with him, instead Thranduil had.

The two had spent many days within Greenwood's halls, discussing their grief and how to deal with it. Bain slowly healed, though he would always miss his small family. He made the decision to never remarry.

This caused an outrage. The heir apparent needed an heir! The loss of his family could not spell the ruin of Dale.

Bain, along with Bard, Thranduil, and his sisters came up with a perfectly acceptable solution. Brand, Sigrid's oldest son, was named heir to the throne. It was also decided that following Bain's death, the line of ascension would pass to Sigrid, who with her many children, was an excellent solution for the people of Dale.

Though many spoke of their discomfort of having the line run through a woman and not a man, no one could deny that Sigrid was a steady and patient influence on both her brother and her father. To have a mother of a line of kings, they could not ask for better.

* * *

Sigrid was less than pleased with her rise in rank after the destruction of Lake-town. A princess was hardly what she had aspired to, she would have been perfectly happy marrying a fisherman. Now there was an expectation about who and what she would do in the future. 

After helping with the injured from the Battle of the Five Armies Sigrid had felt alive. Before she had been merely existing in order to help her family, doing the chores that were needed. Now she felt that she had a purpose. She knew her da would never deny her what she wanted, especially now that there was a small chance that they could afford it, but how would the people of Dale feel about having a healer Princess?

She was hesitant to talk to her da about it as she knew that all of his new responsibilities were weighing on him, but one afternoon he asked her what she would do now. She decided to be honest. 

“I want to be a healer,” she said.

“Do you now?” Her father pulled on his beard in thought. It was something he had seen Dain do, and felt it was a kingly gesture, though he had not been one to play with his facial hair before. 

“I do. I want to help people.”

“Nothing wrong with that, darling.” he agreed.

“Do you think I could do it?”

“I think you can do anything you want,” was his reply. “Our healers aren't the best, but we can talk to Thranduil and Dain, I'm sure both of them will be more than helpful in getting you trained. It will take you a few years though.”

“What about Dale?”

“What about it?” He asked, confused.

“They might not like that their new princess wants to be a healer.”

“I don't really care what they think,” Bard told her. “We finally have the means and opportunity for you children to do what you want, excepting Bain who will have to take over from me. You girls should get to live the lives that your ma and I couldn't. You want to be a healer? You'll be a healer.”

That had been that. She began training with the healers that the dwarves and elves had loaned to Dale the next day. It was exhilarating.

A few days later she had been rewrapping a sword cut on the leg of one of the fighters. The rush of work meant she rarely looked at the faces of her patients, but for some reason she had felt compelled. Up she looked, and there sat her best friend, Tralon. They hadn't seen each other since the dragon came and she was willing to admit that she had been afraid to look for him. But here he was, hale, healthy, and mostly whole.

Their friendship picked up again, easy and full of laughter, as it always was. Tralon was helping the fisherman keep the growing population fed. He came from a long line of fisherman and had been looking forward to following in his father shoes for years.

Sigrid had always liked him, he was kind and generous. Far more patient with Tilda's questions or Bain's tense silences than anyone had a right to be. She knew her da liked him. 

When the time came, it was no surprise that Tralon asked Bard if he could marry Sigrid. Bard had told him that he didn't know, only Sigrid knew the answer. She had been upstairs, helping Tilda mend some skirts, completely unaware that Tralon had come to visit.

Bard called her down, saying he had a question for her. Bain and Tilda followed because they were nosy younger siblings. 

She had never seen Tralon look so nervous. It was the first thing she noticed about him. The second was that he was wearing his best set of clothes, the ones with the fewest holes. 

He stumbled over his words until Bard tapped him gently on the back of the head, then he blurted out, almost faster than she could understand “Would-you-marry-me.”

She stared at him, unsure. When the words clicked in her head, she flew across the small room, hugging him close. Of course she said yes.

The wedding was small, but joyous. The first since the destruction of Lake-town and the battle of the Five Armies. Many said it was because the first princess of Dale was getting married, but she knew that everyone needed and excuse to celebrate life again.

* * *

Thranduil sent word to Elrond to let him know that Bard had woken up. Elrond came for a short visit, he claimed it was just to make sure all was well. 

He arrived approximately a month after Bard woke up, and three weeks after Bard started complaining about being stuck in bed.

“It's no use in complaining, my friend.” Elrond informed him sternly. “You have been abed for several decades, your body must relearn how to function. Besides, it is imperative that you remain hidden a little while longer.

“Why is that?” Bard pouted.

“Two reasons, my friend.” Elrond settled onto Thranduil's chair, earning a glare from the king. “The first is that I don't think it has quite hit you yet that you have slept for over three decades. The world is very different. You must become accustomed to it slowly. You must also grieve for your loved ones.”

Bard swallowed, but nodded.

“The second is that something is going to happen soon. Something I think Legolas must be a part of. If he knows you are here-”

Bard cut him off. “He will not want to leave.”

“Quite. It is good that you two had become friends.”

“We did, it was not easy.” Bard admitted. 

“Worth it?”

“To have the grudging approval of my lover's son? Yes, very. What should we do, if I must wait?”

Thranduil took a seat on Bard's bed. “You must do as Elrond says. Heal, grieve. Only then can we continue our lives together.”

“You know very well that is not what I meant.” a dark scowl was directed at his lover.

Elrond laughed. “I suggest that you work on reading some books to learn the history you missed. I've brought a couple that I think are noteworthy and I'm sure Thranduil has some in his library. I would almost suggest that you both travel to either Imladris or Lórien to heal where no one knows what Bard looks like, but again, I sense that you must remain here.”

“Here as in the palace, or near here?” Thranduil asked suddenly.

Elrond tilted his head. “In the area, I think. Certainly east of the mountains. Why?”

“It would be difficult for me to part with him, but perhaps Beorn can help get him up to date.”

“Beorn the skinchanger?” Bard asked.

“Yes, him.” Thranduil confirmed.

“I haven't seen him since the Battle. Will he be willing to have me in his home?”

“Beorn is more than capable of keeping a secret and helping you recover. Radagast would have been acceptable as well, but he's off doing something.” Elrond shrugged lightly. “Iarwain would also be a good choice, but he is still in the Shire, that is too far away from you.”

“For how long, do you think?”

“A few months. I shouldn't think it'll be more than another week or two before you are climbing your way out of that bed. Once you do, you should be able to travel fairly comfortably to Beorn's farm. I imagine you will want to stay there for several months to rest and catch up on current events. Then you will have to decide the best way to stay out of Legolas' sight.”

“That won't be too difficult,” Thranduil interrupted. “He spends much of his time with the Dúnedain now. Your foster son in particular.”

Elrond smiled. “It has been good for Estel to have a friend that is not also one of his minders. They get into much trouble together.”

A snort from Bard. “I didn't realize Legolas was so like you, love.”

Thranduil stared at him flatly before chuckling. “I suppose he is. I do think Elrond is right, go to Beorn's farm and heal, mentally and physically. I will visit when I am able.” 

So it was decided. Beorn sent word back quickly that he would be delighted to help Thranduil's consort heal. Bard had flushed at being called a consort, though he could think of no better descriptor. 

While waiting to leave, Thranduil and Bard spent almost every second together. Neither were thrilled with being separated so soon after being reunited, but they both saw the wisdom in it. A few more months apart, even with visits, would make the eternity they will soon have all the more sweeter.

On the day he was to leave, traveling with Elrond and a score of guards, Thranduil gave him a large trunk. 

“What is this?” Bard asked, struggling to keep his robe's hood over his head.

“That is everything you missed of your children's lives. Letters, pictures, even things I know they did not want you to know.”

Bard stared at the king while the trunk was loaded onto a small cart. “All of it?”

Thranduil smiled sadly. “In order to grieve properly, you must know what you missed. Perhaps when you return, we will visit them.”

“Perhaps,” Bard looked away from his lover.

“There is no rush on that, meleth. Go to Beorn's, then return to me.”

“Always,” Bard whispered. They did not kiss, they did not hug, a simple hand clasp was all their farewell entailed. Until they met again.  
Amazingly, the dwarves and elves managed to remain civil to each other the entire time. Though they had tried to out do each other with her wedding gifts. Her favorites were from her father. 

Bard invited Sigrid and Tralon for supper with him and Tilda one evening. After they had eaten, they sat around the fire talking. Sigrid watched as her da's eyes kept straying to Tilda's doll that sat upon the mantle. It was perhaps the only thing they still had from Lake-town and had a permanently prominent place in the house ever since Tilda declared she was too old for it.

Sigrid was telling them what plans they had made, and a little about their trip to Erebor to pick out rings.

“Rings?” Bard had asked, “Why do you need rings?”

“To show people we're married?” Sigrid asked, confused.

Her da blinked several times before lightly smacking his forehead. “I never told you.” He stood up and retrieved the doll, bringing it back towards the sofas they were sitting on. 

He pulled out a knife and, ignoring Tilda's pained gasp, carefully cut open one of the doll's seams. He set the knife aside and reached in, fishing around.

When he pulled out his fingers, revealing his prize, Sigrid gasped. There in his hands, were her parent's weddings rings. Along with them was a delicate silver necklace and a sizable man's ring.

“Da?” Sigrid whispered.

He grinned. “I hid the last black arrow of our ancestors in plain view in our kitchen. You really think I couldn't hide some mementos of your mother?”

The jewelry was distributed among the children. Sigrid received the wedding rings, though Bard whispered that they would have gone to whoever married first. Bain got the man's ring, an heirloom that likely went back to Girion's son. The silver necklace went to Tilda, who was delighted at its delicate swirls.

She and Tralon moved to their own little house, near the edge of Dale as close to the lake as they could get. Tralon was still a fisherman, though she knew many wanted to give him an official job working for her da. Both men had refused. Tralon because he enjoyed fishing, Bard because he would not suck another family member into the abyss of leadership.

Her skills as a healer continued to grow and she was much in demand with the people of Dale, from everything from surgery to childbirth. 

She easily gave birth to three children, Brand, Ritla, and Duil. 

It wasn't until her fourth and fifth pregnancies they she had any problems. The fourth, whom they named Neni, was dead at birth. It was hard for her to admit that she suspected. She hadn't been as active as the other three had been, and after the fifth month, her belly had felt heavy and lifeless. 

Her fifth pregnancy ended before she was even aware of it. She had been helping to put to rights an overturned wagon when it had slipped out of the grip of some other men. It hit her head on, sending her to her knees in a pain she couldn't describe. The healers of Thranduil had been sent for. It was they who confirmed that the sudden impact had ended the life of her child. Without knowing if it was male or female, she and Tralon named it simply, Dale.

Her other four pregnancies went just as smoothly as the first three. She and Tralon raised each of them without the restrictions that many children had once had at Lake-town. They could follow their own paths. Even Brand, who would eventually become king, had reluctantly agreed with Bain's plan before it was announced. Though it pained her that it was even necessary, she was glad that Bain decided to keep the line within the family. There were several young men who looked to be keen on the throne. 

Her family and job did not keep her blind though. She continued to watch as the relationship between her father and the elven king grew. She swore to herself that she would be there for Thranduil when Bard passed, just as the elf had been there for them through many of their tough times.

* * *

Not long after Bain's marriage, Bard and Thranduil were seated in front of the fire in Bard's room enjoying a quiet evening of talk and drink. 

“We need to begin making plans.” the elven king said quietly.

“Do you really want to talk about it now? Here?” asked the sleepy human.

“Nay, I don't wish to talk of it at all. But steps need to be taken. It has been eight years since you became king, a certain amount of pomp will be expected of you for when you pass from this world.”

Bard snorted. “Much easier in Lake-town when we just left the bodies for the spiders.”

“You did what?”

“I'm kidding, my love. We burned them on wooden byres, or aboard the boats if they had one. A right glorious affair, really. Somber, but, I don't know. I think it made us all feel connected.”

“You burned the bodies?” Thranduil was aghast.

“We did after the battle, did you not notice?”

“I thought those were the enemy!”

“Calm, my king. It has long been our custom. There haven't been too many deaths since then, with wood so scarce here burying has seem the logical solution.”

“Aye. A burial.” Thranduil fell silent. “We should tell Dain.”

“Tell Dain what?”

“About us.”

Bard gave the elf a flat look. “I'm sure he is more than aware of us.”

Thranduil waved a hand, “you know what I mean.”

“I do, I just don't understand why.”

The elven king leaned as close to his lover as he could. “They are stone workers, they could prepare a glorious mausoleum for you, one that will suit all of our purposes.”

It took several moments for Bard to cotton on to Thranduil's meaning. “Oh.”

“Yes. I am here for several more days. I think we should see if Dain had some free time.”

“Meet him here or there?” Bard teased.

“I would prefer here, as you are aware. But perhaps Erebor would be slightly more secure. Yes. I shall send him a message in the morning. Then we shall go from there.”

* * *

If their request for a meeting surprised Dain, he gave no indication. Just replied that he could make time for them whenever. No need to send word ahead.

They left Dale in the capable hands of Prince Bain and headed towards the Lonely Mountain.

They were ushered into King Dain's study, Thranduil barely keeping his sneer at the mess that still existed in the mountain off his face. Bard elbowed him sharply several times.

“The mountain continues to improve.” He commended his fellow king.

“Aye, but at a snail's pace.” Dain looked out the door, eyes picking out the gouges left from dragon claws. “It's livable, but I suspect that is all we can say. Now. How can I help you?” His pleasant demeanor was at odds with the strained scowl he wore upon his face.

“How secure is this room?” Thranduil asked sharply.

“Secure? I'll have you know nothing gets in or out without my knowledge!” Dain announced vehemently.

“Peace,” Bard stood between the two. “He meant no insult, we have a delicate matter to discuss with you. It is vital that no extra ears hear our words.”

The dwarven king looked long and hard at the two others before nodding. “Come, there is a room more secure.” He led them towards the fireplace, a flick of his finger and several stones nearby moved.

“A hidden passage?” Thranduil thought he managed to keep his excitement hidden, causing Bard and Dain to share a smile.

“Aye. A leftover secret from Thrain. Found it on accident. Several people know about it, but from what we can figure, no sound gets in or out.” He led them down a set of stairs into a smaller version of his study. This room was in worse condition, clearly not a priority when it came to cleaning. “It's not much, but I hope it'll suffice?”

Thranduil looked around him and knocked on a couple stone walls, lifted a half rotted portrait away from another wall to peer behind it. “It is acceptable.”

They all settled about the room, leaning against the walls or sitting upon chairs that had seen better days.

“What can I do for you?” Dain asked, now clearly able to see that they were both stressed.

“We ah.” Bard cleared his throat. “We need to talk about my death.”

“Ain't it a bit early, laddie?” 

“Far too early,” muttered Thranduil.

“Well, it's a bit complicated.”

“Don't quite see how death is complicated. Tell me what I can do.”

It took them several false starts to explain to the dwarven king the secrecy needed and the reasons. Once he had all the information, he settled back in his chair and lowered his chin to his chest.

“So you need a mausoleum or such like to have your body stored in. But you need a way to get your body back out without alerting anyone. The end result being that you will wake up eventually, and spend the rest of eternity with Old Pointy Ears.”

“Quite.” Thranduil answered stiffly.

“A fair puzzle indeed. Got me some ideas. When and where would you like this all done?”

“When should be obvious,” Thranduil snipped.

“Thranduil,” Bard chastised. “I'm healthy enough now Dain, that beginning construction may be a mistake. If you could help us pick a location that would be helpful. Thranduil seems to think it should be easily spotted from Dale, something for all to look at and remember the past.”

“Not a bad idea. Keeping in mind the man who killed a dragon and resurrected a town will always help keep people loyal.” He nodded to himself. “Got a couple locations in mind. I'll scout them out with a few others later this week. I'll sketch out plans for the tomb itself once we know where it'll be.”

“How will you explain the necessary provisions?” asked Thranduil.

“Easy enough.” the dwarf shrugged. “I'll tell the workers that they are old human traditions. None will be the wiser.”

“Until another Dale noble asks you to build a tomb.”

“Eh.” Dain flicked his fingers. “You are king, you and yours should have a more elaborate resting place. Besides, I’ll keep it to my most trusted stone workers. Just as you have asked me to.”

“Thank you, King Dain. Knowing that you are doing this personally is such a relief.”

“Think nothing of it, just means I may try to get some of our taxes reduced.”

Bard laughed. “You can try, but I happen to know you're sitting on a dragon's hoard worth of treasure. You can more than afford any taxes we in Dale impose on you.”

* * *

**3012**

Thranduil had been feeling edgy for months. It was as if he kept forgetting to do something terribly important, but reviewing his daily agenda revealed nothing was amiss. He shook his head to dispel the feeling. The duties of the day were done, it was time to go and sit with Bard for a few hours.

So far, it had appeared that the spell worked perfectly. Dain was able to get Bard's body removed from his mausoleum and transported to a secret room in the Greenwood. It was here that Thranduil spent several months watching. He was there when the unnatural stillness of the paralysis made way for the slow breathing of a deep coma. It was only then that he wept, knowing that they were that much closer.

The first year alone was hard. He received many invitations from the newly crowned Bain to visit Dale, but he could not. Instead he would send his regards and invite the children to Greenwood. Or suggest they meet at Erebor. Perhaps it was petty, but Thranduil did not want to return to the city without Bard by his side.

He highly suspected that even when he did have Bard back, neither would return.

The memories of the past thirty five years whirled in his head as he maneuvered his way past servants and guards. There had been a marked increase in spider and orc activity, necessitating more patrols. He had also made an open invitation for any of his people who felt that his fortress would be safer than their own homes. It had become quite crowded. Making his way to a hidden room had become more of a challenge, but he rather reveled in it.

The air in Bard's chamber was refreshing. It smelled of rain and clovers. He made his way over to the chair that had a permanent home next to Bard's bed. He smiled softly and brushed a lock of hair off of the man's forehead.

It had been distressing to watch his lover de-age. He would never admit it, but part of him feared the spell would go overboard and leave his lover a baby. The relief when it had stopped, leaving Bard as the young father he had been when they first met was overwhelming.

His fingers played across the skin of Bard's cheek, it took him several minutes to realize what was different. Bard was warm. His breath was coming slightly faster. His eyes were moving beneath his lids.

“Meleth?” Thranduil whispered, feeling foolish. There was no response and he sighed, despondent.

He leaned back in his chair, holding Bard's hand lightly in his own, and began to tell the man of his day. He told him everything, from choosing his outfit for the day to finding out they only had one bottle left of the wine they had shared on their anniversaries. It was while he was telling of the letter from Legolas that he felt the faintest of pressure on his fingers. He stilled and closed his eyes. He did not say anything for several seconds.

He forced himself to continue, telling of the recent trade agreements with Dale and Erebor. How the three kingdoms were working together to keep Esgaroth safe. Then, a barely whispered word, almost too faint to hear.

“Finally... getting... along.” whispered Bard.

“Bard?” Thranduil was up and leaning over his lover. “Wake up for me, meleth.” He pleaded.

He watched as Bard struggled to open his eyes. It took several minutes of fluttering before he could look into the beautiful eyes of his beloved.

“Oh, Bard.” He whispered, clasping his lover's hand between his own. Ignoring the tears prickling his eyes, he continued crooning encouragement.

Bard swallowed several times before asking quietly. “It worked?” 

“So it seems.” Thranduil let go of Bard's hand long enough to wipe the tears away from his eyes. With Bard smiling at him drowsily, he found he couldn’t resist temptation anymore. Making sure Bard was still comfortable, he joined him on the bed. They curled up under the blankets and just enjoyed being together.

* * *

Thranduil sent word to Elrond to let him know that Bard had woken up. Elrond came for a short visit, he claimed it was just to make sure all was well. 

He arrived approximately a month after Bard woke up, and three weeks after Bard started complaining about being stuck in bed.

“It's no use in complaining, my friend.” Elrond informed him sternly. “You have been abed for several decades, your body must relearn how to function. Besides, it is imperative that you remain hidden a little while longer.

“Why is that?” Bard pouted.

“Two reasons, my friend.” Elrond settled onto Thranduil's chair, earning a glare from the king. “The first is that I don't think it has quite hit you yet that you have slept for over three decades. The world is very different. You must become accustomed to it slowly. You must also grieve for your loved ones.”

Bard swallowed, but nodded.

“The second is that something is going to happen soon. Something I think Legolas must be a part of. If he knows you are here-”

Bard cut him off. “He will not want to leave.”

“Quite. It is good that you two had become friends.”

“We did, it was not easy.” Bard admitted. 

“Worth it?”

“To have the grudging approval of my lover's son? Yes, very. What should we do, if I must wait?”

Thranduil took a seat on Bard's bed. “You must do as Elrond says. Heal, grieve. Only then can we continue our lives together.”

“You know very well that is not what I meant.” a dark scowl was directed at his lover.

Elrond laughed. “I suggest that you work on reading some books to learn the history you missed. I've brought a couple that I think are noteworthy and I'm sure Thranduil has some in his library. I would almost suggest that you both travel to either Imladris or Lórien to heal where no one knows what Bard looks like, but again, I sense that you must remain here.”

“Here as in the palace, or near here?” Thranduil asked suddenly.

Elrond tilted his head. “In the area, I think. Certainly east of the mountains. Why?”

“It would be difficult for me to part with him, but perhaps Beorn can help get him up to date.”

“Beorn the skinchanger?” Bard asked.

“Yes, him.” Thranduil confirmed.

“I haven't seen him since the Battle. Will he be willing to have me in his home?”

“Beorn is more than capable of keeping a secret and helping you recover. Radagast would have been acceptable as well, but he's off doing something.” Elrond shrugged lightly. “Iarwain would also be a good choice, but he is still in the Shire, that is too far away from you.”

“For how long, do you think?”

“A few months. I shouldn't think it'll be more than another week or two before you are climbing your way out of that bed. Once you do, you should be able to travel fairly comfortably to Beorn's farm. I imagine you will want to stay there for several months to rest and catch up on current events. Then you will have to decide the best way to stay out of Legolas' sight.”

“That won't be too difficult,” Thranduil interrupted. “He spends much of his time with the Dúnedain now. Your foster son in particular.”

Elrond smiled. “It has been good for Estel to have a friend that is not also one of his minders. They get into much trouble together.”

A snort from Bard. “I didn't realize Legolas was so like you, love.”

Thranduil stared at him flatly before chuckling. “I suppose he is. I do think Elrond is right, go to Beorn's farm and heal, mentally and physically. I will visit when I am able.” 

So it was decided. Beorn sent word back quickly that he would be delighted to help Thranduil's consort heal. Bard had flushed at being called a consort, though he could think of no better descriptor. 

While waiting to leave, Thranduil and Bard spent almost every second together. Neither were thrilled with being separated so soon after being reunited, but they both saw the wisdom in it. A few more months apart, even with visits, would make the eternity they will soon have all the more sweeter.

On the day he was to leave, traveling with Elrond and a score of guards, Thranduil gave him a large trunk. 

“What is this?” Bard asked, struggling to keep his robe's hood over his head.

“That is everything you missed of your children's lives. Letters, pictures, even things I know they did not want you to know.”

Bard stared at the king while the trunk was loaded onto a small cart. “All of it?”

Thranduil smiled sadly. “In order to grieve properly, you must know what you missed. Perhaps when you return, we will visit them.”

“Perhaps,” Bard looked away from his lover.

“There is no rush on that, meleth. Go to Beorn's, then return to me.”

“Always,” Bard whispered. They did not kiss, they did not hug, a simple hand clasp was all their farewell entailed. Until they met again.

* * *

The plan had been for Bard to stay at the farm for upwards of six months. He ended up staying for almost a year. It took him a month just to open the trunk that contained his children's memories. It was another month before he could actually pull anything out.

Thranduil had documented everything. The names of all the suitors Sigrid's children had, all the places Tilda visited, the laws and regulations that Bain put in place. Everything.

Beorn turned out to be wonderful company for these times. The two shared their heartache at outliving their families, knowing they would never see the smile on their children's faces or the thrill of spoiling their grandchildren. The skinchanger would often point out that Bard was not completely alone, he had friends and a lover. 

To this, Bard would agree, then drop the subject for a few days. He hoped that his presence would remind Beorn that he wasn't as alone as he thought either.

The farm work was also soothing. Caring for the cows and sheep gave Bard something to focus on besides all the changes the world had seen. Once Smaug was dead and the Battle of the Five Armies over, Esgaroth had become a fairly peaceful place. He could trace in the histories he was given when the evil began to reappear. 

It surprised him to learn that the beginnings were very early on in his reign. He just hadn't seen it with so many other things on his mind.

Thranduil managed to visit once a month, though they were often rushed. The sixth time he managed to sneak away, he brought Tauriel with him.

“Tauriel!” Bard greeted cheerfully.

“Bard? It's really-” she floundered for words. The king had told her who they were going to see, but she hadn't believed him until the evidence was before her eyes.

Bard laughed, and kissed Thranduil in greeting. “Not that I mind, but why did you bring her?” He asked quietly, while Tauriel greeted Beorn and worked to regain her composure.

“Legolas is back for a few months,” the king said in an undertone. “It has been many years, but it is still better to keep them apart. There are still some hard feelings about how their relationship did not proceed. More so on my son's side than on Tauriel's.”

“Ah.”

“Besides, Tauriel spent much of her time in Dale, I thought she could share her own stories of your children.”

“Could she?” Bard turned to the guard captain and asked if she would share stories from her time in Dale.

“I would be delighted, my king.”

“I'm not a king any longer.” He rebuffed. “Thank goodness.”

“Beorn will show you around, Tauriel.” Thranduil announced, waving her towards the skinchanger. “Bard and I will be... talking.” The lovers shared a smile that caused Tauriel to blush and Beorn to snort.

At the end of the year away from Greenwood, Bard returned. Legolas had left again with the rangers, making it safe for both Bard and Tauriel to return. Once there, Thranduil offered to take Bard to the stone mausoleum his family was entombed in.

“I think not, love.” Bard gently refused. “I am much happier remembering them the way you do. That honors them more.”

Thranduil smiled. “Well, then. Come. You can meet the newest elk in the family. She is almost old enough to be named.”

* * *

**3019**

“It is a shame,” Legolas was saying as the younger members of the Fellowship relaxed in the sun of the Healing House of Gondor. The battles were over and for many the grief was still fresh, but for now they had arranged themselves in an impromptu picnic in a small herb garden. There were only two members missing. Boromir, lost during their initial trek across Middle Earth, and Gandalf. The Istar was off working with the visiting Imladris elves on how to best deal with the remaining packs of orcs found throughout the newly freed lands.

“What is?” Aragorn asked sleepily, the others may have been having a nice afternoon of relaxation, but he was taking a break from his new duties as king.

“That Bard is not here to help you.”

“Bard?” Frodo asked, “King Bard?”

“Yes,” confirmed Legolas. 

“The name sounds familiar,” groused Pippin, “But I can't place it.”

Merry elbowed him in his side, “Pippin,” he chided gently. “Bard from Bilbo's stories.”

“Oh!” Frodo exclaimed, “The dragonslayer!”

“That's the one,” Legolas agreed.

“Why is it a shame he isn't here?” Merry asked.

“Because he could help our new kings settle into their roles. He had to build Dale from nothing. All the administrative staff from Lake-town either died, fled, or turned out to be corrupt.”

“You know much about his struggles?” Aragorn asked.

“Oh, yes, He and Ada were good friends. He was often in Greenwood. They were of like mind on many topics concerning their realms.”

“I didn't know you were so well acquainted.” Gimli said around his pipe.

“Yes. His death was painful for Ada,” the elven prince quietly explained. “Ada has not returned to Dale since.”

Gimli nodded sagely. “I often wondered about that. Dale,” he said, explaining to the others “was frequently the meeting place for the three kings. When Bard passed, King Dain began to make the trip to Mirkwood. Much to our surprise he never once grumbled about it. It's been that way ever since.”

The group sat silently, thinking on the loses of the past few wars. Their own, and the ones they had no part of.

The quiet was broken when Arwen and Elrond came to fetch them. 

“Enough time has been spent hiding from your duties,” Elrond admonished the king sternly. “Scouts have announced that a procession comes from the North, you must prepare to meet them.”

“The north?” Legolas asked, turning to Gimli. “Would King Thorin III send an ambassador?”

“Nay,” Gimli replied, standing up and looking out the window. “I've written to him and for the time being he's letting me fill that role. It could be from Dale?”

“I wouldn't think so, the last I heard King Bard II was helping to clear out spider and orc nests.”

“We shall find out soon enough,” Gandalf interrupted diplomatically. He had slipped in almost completely unnoticed behind Elrond and Arwen.

The others grumbled as they picked themselves up and headed towards the courtyard to greet their guests.

“Did King Bard really rebuild his entire kingdom?” Sam asked Legolas.

“Oh yes, and he hated every minute of it. I'm fairly sure that Ada got him drunk a couple times just so he could rant about it and not shoot any of his advisers.” Legolas smiled at the memory.

“Shoot them?” Sam sounded alarmed.

“He could wield a long bow better than most even in his advanced years. His daughter, Sigrid, often had to hide it before his council meetings.” The others laughed.

“Do not get any ideas, Estel.” Elrond warned his foster son.

Aragorn held his hands up, “Arwen and Faramir have already told me that it is highly unkingly to kill my citizens.”

They assembled in the courtyard, eagerly awaiting news of their approaching guests when another scout appeared, panting but trying to maintain his decorum.

“Any news?” Aragorn asked.

“Yes, m'lord.” Wheezed the boy. “It appears to be three score of soldiers. At their head rides a man upon a... well, it looks to be an elk of some sort, though none of us have ever seen one so large.”

“An elk?” Legolas repeated before darting towards the edge of Minas Tirith's battlement. “It's ada!” He announced happily, whirling around as if preparing to race towards the lower levels and greet his father personally.

“He'll be here soon enough, laddie.” grumbled Gimli, “Might as well stay here with the rest of us.”

Legolas pouted, but eventually agreed with his friend. 

“He rides an elk?” Pippin asked, astonished.

“Yes, a special breed he has been cultivating for centuries.” Legolas happily seized upon the topic. “They are magnificent beasts, very smart, incredibly loyal.” Legolas stared out across the Pelennor. “He rides them so as to be seen by his troops, as well as to show his status as king. Ada,” he said quietly to the Hobbit “can be very vain at times.”

Pippin grinned in response. Before they could continue, they heard the clacking of hoofs upon the stone, the whole group turned to watch King Thranduil of Greenwood make his entrance.

It was a grand entrance, no less than Legolas expected of his father. The soldiers that accompanied him were glowing in their gilt armor, looking every bit the warriors of legend that many of them were. The Greenwood flags fluttered in the breeze, and with them a smell of deep woods that the elven prince greedily inhaled. He had missed home.

Legolas waited impatiently as Thranduil dismounted the elk, then politely greeted his hosts. Introducing the entire Fellowship plus the various other delegates that were in attendance took longer than he wished. But, finally, the king stood in front of his son.

They eyed each other carefully, both trying to discern how their greeting should go. Legolas finally smiled and reached across the distance to grasp his father's shoulder.

“ _Na vedui!_ Ada.” Legolas greeted in their traditional language.

“ _Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn,_ Leafling.” returned his father.

Before they could continue, a shadow appeared at the king's side. Legolas glanced quickly at the man, smiled in greeting and looked back at his father. He froze, eyes wide, before slowly turning back.

“Bard?” he whispered, so quietly he could barely hear himself.

“Hail, Legolas.” the man answered with a smile.

“How?” the prince started, stunned, before giving up on words and hugging the man close. “Ada has been so sad without you,” he whispered into Bard's ear.

“I know, ion. I know. There was nothing we could do but wait.” the former king held Legolas close, his eyes slipped shut. After several long seconds he pushed the prince away, “Introduce me to your friends, yes? Afterward we'll try to explain as much as we can.”

“Of course.” Legolas straightened his tunic, then quickly introduce King Bard I of Dale to his companions.

Bard happily greeted the people he knew, Elrond and Gandalf. When they got to Gimli he stared. “Glo-? No, it cannot be. You must be Gimli! My how you have grown!”

“Aye,” Gimli blushed at the reference to his age. “But I don't understand, my king. I thought you dead and buried in Dale?”

“It is a long story, my friend. One that is best told over a drink, unless the King of Gondor disagrees?” Bard looked towards the new king.

“No.” Aragorn agreed, though he looked slightly lost at the arrival of a supposed dead man. “A drink I think we shall all need.” He glanced at his foster father and the wizard. Elrond looked vaguely smug, but Gandalf looked as lost as the rest of them felt.

Translations:  
Na vedui! - At last!  
Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn – A star shines on the hour of our meeting

* * *

They settled into the king's sitting room, a spacious and comfortable space with plenty of seats for everyone. Aragorn called for drinks as well as asking to have dinner served to them all there, as soon as it was ready.

The explanation went relativity smoothly. Legolas was still annoyed that he hadn't been included in the secret. Gandalf was just as annoyed to be left out of the whole process. Contrary to both of them, Elrond was smug in not only his knowledge of the spell, but in it's happy outcome.

“But why?” Legolas asked again.

Thranduil rolled his eyes, “Ion, we have told you several times. The magic would not work unless very few people knew about it. Bard had to pass on in memory as is part of a mortal's life.”

“I know, but-”

“Legolas,” Bard interrupted. “We were also concerned that it may not work. Everything we had to go on was theoretical. It is very likely that I could have truly died. Better, we thought, to have a happy surprise for you in the future than to remind you that your fears were founded.”

Legolas did not look very comforted by this, but he did settle back into his seat. “I am happy you are here Bard. Ada is always happier with you around.”

The two men smiled, curling their hands together in a familiar grip. Anyone looking could see the matching rings on their left hands, a marriage symbol familiar to the race of men.

“What did you have to give up, Thranduil?” Gandalf asked, feigning disinterest.

“Why do you ask, Mithrandir?” asked Thranduil with a raised eyebrow.

“Well,” the wizard dissembled. “If it worked for you and Bard, perhaps it could work for Aragorn and..”

“No.” Thranduil cut off forcefully. “It would not.”

“Why is that?” Pippin asked curiously, wiping ale foam off his upper lip.

“For three very good reasons,” the elven king began. “Which is why,” he shot a look towards his son, “We were not sure it would work with Bard. The first is that Arwen has already made her choice. You can't go back on that now, dear lady.” Arwen nodded and clasped her husband's hand in hers. “The second is that Aragorn is part elf himself, going back to his Númenorean roots. The third is simply that Aragorn has a destiny he must fulfill.”

Merry frowned. “But he helped defeat Sauron and returned to the throne of Gondor, wasn't that his destiny?”

“Only partly, young Hobbit.” The king tipped his head. “However, he must rebuild Gondor to its once glorious state. Bard was a relatively minor king in a relatively unknown realm.” he glanced apologetically at his husband, but Bard just waved his comment away. 

“Wasn't that Bard's destiny?” Pippin asked. “According to Bilbo, Bard's ancestors were the lords of Dale and lost that when Smaug appeared. So, didn't Bard have the same,” he waved his hand briefly. “Thing to do as Aragorn?”

“Yes, and no. Bard's destiny was to kill the dragon, which he did. Rebuilding Dale was bonus and he succeeded in that long before it would have become an issue. No, these magics will not work for our Gondor royalty. They are already on their course of life, nothing can change that now.”

“It helped,” Bard added quietly, “that I already had my heirs. My relationship with Thranduil was mostly unknown among my people, but they never pushed me to marry because I had three healthy children to take over if anything ever happened to me.”

They all fell silent as they realized that Bard had outlived his children, but before Pippin could ask an insensitive question, Bard continued unprompted.

“They were happy,” he smiled wanly. “In the end, they were happy, even Bain who lost his wife and child so young. Sigrid's eldest became king and Dale flourished for it. They were happy, and that is all that matters.”

“How...” Frodo stopped before he continued.

“How what, Master Hobbit?”

“How could you decide to do that?”

Bard grinned. “Once I wrapped my head around it, the answer was fairly simple. I love Thranduil and wanted to be with him as long as I was able. This spell, magic, whatever you want to call it, was a way to ensure that we would have eternity. It was not an easy way, but it was worthwhile.”

Thranduil's lips curled into a slight smile, he leaned toward his husband and kissed him softly.

“Ugh, ada, really?” Legolas complained.

He broke the kiss laughing, knowing that the rest of his days will be filled with a happy family.

* * *

The next morning, while Bard was out for a walk he came across the queen in one of Minas Tirith's many gardens. She was seated on the ledge of a fountain, her fingers trailing restlessly through the water. Nearby, her guards stood at attention. He had to identify himself before being allowed to approach the elven lady.

“My queen,” he greeted when he took a seat beside her.

“King Bard,” she replied looking up for the water.

“No,” he laughed. “I'm not a king anymore.”

“No? You are married to one, what will your title be now?” she asked, mischief in her eyes.

Bard froze for a moment, then shook himself. “Nothing, I suppose. When Thranduil and I leave for Valinor, neither of us will be kings.”

She smiled thinly at his comment.

“What troubles you, my dear?”

“I know I made my choice. I am content with it. I still fear though.”

“Fear is a big part of being human.”

“Why is that?”

He shrugged, “Nothing is permanent.” he looked out upon the city. “When I first married my wife, Brita, I thought we'd be together forever. When she passed after giving birth to our daughter Tilda it felt it felt as if Sauron himself had ripped my heart out.”

“It must have been hard.”

“Aye, it was. My young'ens were often with me while I did tedious, dangerous work around Lake-town. There were times I wanted nothing more than to never be parted from them. There were also times I wished with all my might that someone else would take responsibility of them. In between both of those times, I prayed to trade places with my wife. What did I know about raising children? It took a long time to grieve for my wife. Then one day, I woke up.”

“Woke up?”

“I realized that Brita would not want me to wallow in her loss. I had to live in order to raise our children properly. Only then was I willing to even consider a new relationship.”

“But with an elf?”

He laughed. “The elf part came later. I first considered remarrying, but realized I would constantly compare any new wife to my old one. There are too many stories of wicked step mothers, I did not want to put my children through that.”

Arwen nodded thoughtfully. “Being with another man was accepted?”

“Nay, though it happened more than most would think. When I met Thranduil I had finally found myself feeling like myself. The grief was still there, but also the hope that Brita would be proud of how our little family turned out. Thranduil had similar thoughts about Aerin. Together we healed.”

“How does this help me?” she asked curiously.

“Because, my dear queen, even if you had been born human, or Aragorn born an elf, there was never any guarantee that you would spend eternity together. Enjoy the time you have, don't borrow trouble.”

“You make it sound simple.” Arwen sighed.

“It is simple. As long as you remember that every minute you're together is worth all the love and sacrifices you've made.”


End file.
